The Exam Called Life
by Aranori
Summary: Eleanor Johansson's life in St. Canard High School is affected by permanent humiliation. But one day she makes the acquaintance of Elmo, Megavolt's former self, who suffers from the same fate. Will their friendship be stronger than their common bullies?
1. Chapter 1

**Assignment #1: Character Analysis – Find out who you are**

The last year of a stage in one's life is a very special one. One starts making plans for the future, reflects the years that have passed and asks oneself some important questions.

What does the image look like that I have created of myself? Did I have a certain intention in mind that I wanted to display? And if so: what exactly did I want to achieve?

Did I disguise just to please and impress other people? Did I just want to be me? Or did I manage to break with my familiar behavioral patterns and thus got to know aspects of my personality I haven't known before?

But the most important question is: do I still have the chance to change my spots?

Internal monologues of this kind are normal for young people who are about to graduate from school. Because what comes next is real life. This direful issue your parents always warn you of, hoping that their offsprings have been prepared properly for the serious side of life.

Our story starts on a warm day on the edge of September, sometime in the late seventies. The sun sent its glittering rays down onto the streets of St. Canard, where numerous figures scurried all-around.

Young men perspired in their black business suits while goose-stepping towards the subway station, their important-looking briefcases dangling back and forth in time with their footsteps. Mothers pushed buggies through the parks, other people took their dogs for a walk or utilized the remaining minutes before work to thumb through the pages of the daily newspaper.

The hectic pace carried forward in a likewise intensity among the students of St. Canard High School. It was the first day after summer break and the girls and boys of the school set out for their educational establishment. The focus of attention now lay unmistakably on the graduates-to-be.

Who would muster the most awards by the end of the year? Who wouldn't graduate?

Not only did the juniors and the teachers ask themselves these questions, but also – or: especially – the worried seniors.

One of them sat in the school bus and looked out of the window anxiously. Her shoulder bag, chock-a-block with books, lay in her lap. The head of the rat girl was leaned against the window pane and moved slightly to and fro. Except for her, there were only junior students on the bus. She was the only senior. There would surely be restrained giggling all-round when she got off the vehicle and walked towards the school building. The boys would shake their heads, smirking, whereas the girls would examine her with deprecative looks and mumble something like "wallflower" or "freak". Maybe they would also call comments after her or trip her up on her way to the classroom. But on no account would there be someone waiting for her at her locker. Eleanor Johansson had no friends.

Thus began her last year in the school she hated so much. And the school seemed to hate her, too. Because how else is one supposed to depict the status that Eleanor held as a showcase geek? She, the one who was permanently picked on because of her looks, the one who was surrounded by numbskulls. Was wondering about the future really that uncool? Was it condemnable to take an interest in natural sciences and languages and to integrate them into one's leisure time? Was it that odd to like school? (Just to impropriate knowledge, of course!)

The bus jerked to a halt. The rat girl had been lost in her thoughts so much that she hadn't noticed that they had already reached the school. She sighed and rose from her seat halfheartedly, just to be hustled by a horde of seventh graders who ran towards the door and out screeching. She couldn't deny herself a smile. These kids were so light-hearted, things like status symbols didn't exist in their minds. And they didn't have to join the social fabric yet. It was a lot more difficult for Eleanor, who was at the age of 17. Unlike the majority of her class, she neither possessed a driver's license (what for? Cars polluted the environment!) nor had she any friends who could take her along. Hence, she was dependent on the bus and raised a laugh day-to-day. And there was no difference today. She already heard them when she put her foot on the first step.

"Look who's coming there! Hey, Eleanor!"

The other girls jeered and whistled at her, but Eleanor didn't look. That would make things even worse. She accelerated her pace and tried to keep the color of her face as neutral as possible. The shrill laughter reverberated until she had opened the door of the main building and had disappeared behind it. The rat girl stopped and breathed out. She was supposed to stand above these things after all the years, wasn't she? She was not to care about that any more, right? Yes, she should actually have gathered the strength to stand up to her bullies. But Eleanor hadn't. Already in her earliest childhood had her parents drummed into her to meet the expectations of others first. Not until then were her own needs to be fulfilled. And since it seemed to be her classmates' expectation that she acted amusingly, she saw no chances to break the mold.

It was still quite early and Eleanor was alone in the chilly, protective belly of the school. She peeped outside. As a matter of fact, her female classmates didn't dare to come inside yet. They rather wanted to show the new sunglasses they had bought on vacation in France to their friends, the boys and the world overall. She saw Preena Lot, the most popular girl of her class and definite candidate for the prom queen crown, as she presumably told her astonished friends with excessive movement of her hands about her exclusive club vacation. _So what_, Eleanor thought, _I've been to Egypt this year! You would never dare to travel there for fear of your make-up!_ But what she had experienced wasn't really interesting for girls of her age. She was at least sure not to make acquaintance of one that would get into a camp for archeological excavation.

Eleanor averted her curious gaze and started rummaging her bag for her schedule. Regardless of her good memory: she just couldn't bear in mind which period followed which. The first two lessons today were French. _Great, I may enjoy the company of the honorable ladies a little longer,_ she thought disparagingly. She decided to spend the remaining time in the girls' restroom, where she could be sure not to be disturbed by anybody.

Relieved not to have met anybody on her way, Eleanor pushed open the door of the restrooms and intuitively occupied a cabin in the middle. The last one would have been way too striking. She locked the door and sat down on the toilet lid, the bag in her lap. She stared down onto the tiles and tried to recognize patterns in the stains on the poorly cleaned floor. This usually helped perfectly to get rid of the bad thoughts. But today it just didn't work. She had to admit that the question whether or not something would change this year bothered her. She didn't expect to become friends with many people, but she nevertheless hoped to engage somebody's sympathy for at least a bit. Because, in all honesty: they were mature enough to demonstrate due respect for each other, weren't they?

"_No,"_ a voice popped up in Eleanor's head, _"why should things change now, of all times?"_

Shoot, why did she always have to be so negative? She shook her head in order to make her subconsciousness shut up.

With a bang the door of the restrooms flew open and a group of cackling girls entered. They could hardly restrain themselves. The rat girl stiffened and could barely save her bag from slipping off her lap and thus bespeaking her presence. She tucked up her legs, put the bag atop and listened.

"Did you see her?" one of the girls shrieked. Unmistakably, that was Preena's voice. And it was clear to Eleanor that she was the topic of conversation.

"Sure! One just _can't _ignore such an insult to the eye!" responded another voice, a rather hoarse one. It belonged to Celeste. The rat girl bit her bottom lip. Celeste had pretty much been the only girl Eleanor had once been kind of close to. They had sat next to each other in 8th grade and she had helped the duck girl to cope with her weakness in Math. Celeste had thanked her with regard and occasional conversations. But unfortunately, a real friendship had never accrued from the loose contact. When they had reached puberty, Celeste had changed in sudden bursts. Boys had suddenly become her focus of attention, she had seemed to start aiming at the other sex completely. This had self-explanatorily sparked Preena's interest for her. She had already had several boyfriends in 7th grade. Eleanor was consistently astonished at the fact that her current boyfriend Hamilton hadn't turned into a bore yet. Anyway, with this turnabout the prospective friendship – if at all considerable as such a thing – between Eleanor and Celeste had died away.

"The poor thing somehow got stuck in the fifties, no doubt," Preena estimated. "I mean, have you seen how she walked about? Does nobody advise her of us having proceeded chronologically?" A fizzing sound could be heard. She seemed to re-arrange her aesthetic hair-do with some spray.

"Maybe you should undertake the task of doing that," Hannah assumed. She was one of those who permanently took up a subordinate role to others because they didn't have a mind of their own and left the thinking to others.

"No bad idea ... ," Preena answered. There was a long break. Eleanor could literally hear the girls' brains work. At last Preena said, "I think I already have an idea how we'll do it." Her voice sounded bittersweet as she spoke. Eleanor felt a shiver run down her spine. Preena was her archenemy and her jokes were exceedingly disgraceful and, in the worst case, even painful. Eleanor heard the malicious laughter of the girls, it crept up under the door crack like a poisonous gas and choked her. At least she now knew that the girls planned something. But she wouldn't get to know what it was since they vociferously set out for the corridor.

That was the keyword for Eleanor to disengage herself from her uncomfortable posture. She slowly put her numb feet down onto the ground and sighed. She should have figured it out earlier: she would furthermore have to tolerate the humiliations. She asked herself how her classmates' address of welcome could possibly look like.

Utterly quiet, she unlocked the door and stepped out of the cabin. She sighed again and moved towards the basins. She turned on the water and let the cool liquid run over her hands. What a pleasant feeling, as if she could wash away a part of her sorrows.

Eleanor closed her eyes for a moment and turned of the water. When she opened her eyes again she was appalled: until that very moment she had avoided looking in the mirror. Only now did she realize how old she looked. Did the mental pressure harry her really that much? She loosened her bun, ran her fingers through her reddish-brown kinks and tied her hair again. Eleanor smoothed out her clothes, took off her glasses and rubbed her eyes. When she put the glasses back on her long nose and looked at herself again, she perceived her appearance as at least more reasonable than before. She tried to manage a smile, which turned out quite lopsided, and left the room.


	2. Chapter 2

"La situation sociale variait rapidement ..."

It was difficult for Eleanor to concentrate this first morning after summer vacation. She was neither overtired nor had she forgotten to prepare for the lesson. Something different bothered her. And she believed to know what it was. She heard permanent cackling from behind. Preena and her friends seemed to enjoy that they outclassed the rat girl. She dared to turn around. Actually: the girls were tickled pink and flashed her pitiful glances which were meant to say, "Look at that poor wallflower! That laughing stock, that miserable creature!" Celeste imitated Eleanor's scowling facial expression while Preena hastily scribbled something on a sheet of paper. What was that supposed to mean?

"Mademoiselles, attention!" The admonition of her French teacher yielded an immediate result. Eleanor instantly turned back to the blackboard. A last suppressed snort could be heard before calm was restored for the rest of this double period.

During recess, Eleanor pushed her way through the masses of students, along the long corridor up to her locker. In secret, she hoped not to find anything unpleasant inside. Awaiting the worst, she nevertheless closed her eyes tightly while opening the locker door and tried to do the same with her nose. The nasty surprises would mostly wait in the form of a disgusting odor or a slimy something that would slump onto her head. But nothing happened. The surprised Eleanor examined every corner of her locker, but couldn't detect anything alarming. She shrugged and closed the door again. Her heart clearly beat faster. In the afternoon she would recline as a start and do something relaxing. Reading in her Biology book for example.

On her way to the next classroom, all kinds of familiar and detested faces came across her, and in every single case Eleanor waited for the perfectly placed elbow which would bore into her ribs or her shoulder in passing. With her head sunken, clutching her bag protectively like a shield, she blazed her trail. When she alighted on her chair in the Math classroom, she recounted in her head how many bruises she would have to attend today. Little by little, the room filled with students and every now and then a "Hi, Eleanor!" reached her ears. She paid those not very well meant set phrases no further regard. Eleanor focused her gaze onto the big clock over the blackboard. Only a few minutes were left until the beginning of the period. Then the noise level would decline and ease the emerging pulsation in her head.

"Ouch!" She couldn't suppress an expression of a sensation of pain. She rubbed the back of her head and looked around, searching for the item that had hit her. It was a pencil case. The boys in the backmost row began snorting immediately as they caught sight of Eleanor's perturbed face. She had experienced a lot, but nobody had thrown things at her so far. Not so hard things anyway. The rat girl begged the minute hand of the clock to move on in a quicker pace.

"Hey, what ... ?" This time the medium of attack rolled into Eleanor's range of vision. It was an empty plastic bottle. Her reaction evoked new hysterical laughter from behind. Was this the plan of which Preena and her friends had spoken? No, that couldn't be. None of them was in Eleanor's Math course, all of those who currently cracked up were boys. And to her disappointment, there were a few among them whose balanced and calm characters she had always treasured. So now also the last somewhat trustworthy persons of her grade had defected to the opposing side. Eleanor war desperate. What did I do wrong? she asked herself when another item was shot at her head: a pair of scissors. Had those imbeciles now completely gone mad??

When Eleanor hid in her chair to provide a smaller contact surface for the just now set in rain of paper balls, she noticed that a sheet of paper was attached to her back. Of course, those morons needed a written invitation! Unnerved, she ripped the note off her blouse and read, "Help, my brain is stuck in a bench vise called 'hairdo'! Please help me to loosen it!"

"Go and see a hairdresser, you alien!" came the very prudent remark from her classmates. The dull feeling of wrath that had built up in Eleanor unfortunately didn't have the chance to go off. Because that very moment her Math teacher, Mr. Simmons, entered the room. But to be frank: a real emotional release would probably never happen. Eleanor had become – according to her own sensation – emotionally indifferent over the years.

"Miss Johansson, would you please remove the mess in front of your desk?" Mr. Simmons mumbled without looking at his best student. Eleanor nodded silently, stood up and bent down to pick the garbage. She trembled with anger and the palpitation in her head became stronger. Luckily the others had stopped laughing.

The rest of the period went by at a crawl. Also this time was it difficult for Eleanor to attach importance to the written word on the blackboard. This didn't escape Mr. Simmons, since he demanded her by show of hands to stay for a talk after the lesson. When all the other students had left the room, Mr. Simmons closed the door and sat down behind his desk again, the clueless girl in front of him. She looked at him expectantly, but he refused to look back. Was she even repugnant to her own teacher?

"Miss Johansson, do you have any problems? Would you like to talk about something ?" His voice sounded spiritless, almost bored. He didn't seem to want to meet his pedagogic duties even half-heartedly. And that was the reason why Eleanor didn't want to confide in him. So she lied, "No, there are no problems."

"Are you sure?" he dug deeper. For a split second he glanced at Eleanor's face. "I noticed your strained facial expression already last year. Something seems to depress you, and I just would like to offer you some help."

"It's nothing, really," Eleanor affirmed. She doubted, though, that he believed her, as she felt the blood flooding her cheeks. Mr. Simmons' gaze surveyed the desks. He sighed.

"Well, if you don't want to tell me, I can't help you either. All I can do is to wish you that you'll look a little more on the bright side in your future life."

Had Eleanor misheard him? She, looking a little more on the bright side? That must have been supposed to be a bad joke! If it didn't catch any teacher's eye that she was incredibly mistreated since years, then this school really was a morbid institution that didn't have to be surprised at the number of melancholy figures it created. Grave problems were willingly disregarded. But why did Eleanor complain at all? She didn't accept the "help" that was offered to her.

"You may go," Mr. Simmons ended the conversation and added a gesture that pointed to the door. Eleanor accepted this offer thankfully and left the room without further ado.

The rest of the day came up with more unpleasant events. Several times Eleanor was tripped up and she successfully stumbled each time, she was jostled deliberately and it was clear to her that fingers were permanently pointed at her behind her back. Shortly before the end of the school day, when she located her locker again to store some books in it, she found the surprise inside that she had "waited" for the whole day: a torrent of paper balls, probably the leftovers from Math. Every time Eleanor asked herself how the others managed to lodge the whole stuff in her locker. They must have gotten a spare key from somewhere.

--

When she opened the front door of her parents' house, the mucosa-corrosive odor that her mother called "perfume" engulfed her. Eleanor held her breath and hurried to open the windows.

"Mom?" she called, but there was no answer. She could have foreseen that. Her mother hang around again, either at one of her friends or at some dubious guy she had met at the nearby bowling center. Eased, the girl let her bag sink to the floor. She hadn't been on good terms with her mother for years, therefore she didn't care for her absence. For quite some time Eleanor had the feeling that her genitor didn't give a damn about her only child any more. And she didn't seem to care a fig for her husband either.

Eleanor's father was a highly endowed professor at St. Canard University and a very successful scientist on the field of molecular biology. She had looked up to him ever since she could remember: for his great intellect, for the sacrificially devotion he showed to his work as well as for his amazingly warm-hearted manner to deal with people. And exactly this seemed to be her mother's reason for avoiding her own house. Her husband had become a bore, he worked incessantly and couldn't give her what she needed (except for financial security): undivided attention. Because there was Eleanor after all.

In her mother's opinion, she had been quite sweet as a child, but as the years had passed she had turned into a similarly uptight bourgeois like her father. And now Eleanor's mother unashamedly ripped him and his good-natured character off. The rat girl knew that she had come into existence unintentionally and that her mother had wanted to perform abortion at first, but this realization didn't sadden her any longer. Ever and anon, the bigger part of this world would show her that she was undesirable. Since her father was away on business a lot and since Eleanor had nobody that she could refer to as a "friend", she couldn't confide in anybody.

Eleanor had absolutely needed her mother's advice, though, especially in recent years. Because there was so much that thitherto kept her racking her brains as she was lying awake at nights. For example the boys issue: how do you act appropriately when you are confronted with a male?

Eleanor recalled a "conversation" between her and her mother when she had doted on someone for the very first time. She had been 14 back then and had adored the captain of the basketball team, Anthony Mitchell.

"Mom," she had said, „there's something I'd like to talk to you about."

"Not now, I'm busy," her mother had tried to rebuff her. She had been occupied with running over the pages of several fashion magazines and filling out mail-orders.

"But Mom, this is really important to me!" Eleanor had insisted. Her mother had looked up from the pile of magazines, had gazed at her daughter with an irritated look and had answered, "Don't you have any friends that you can talk to about your so-called 'problems'?"

This answer had touched Eleanor to the quick, and so she had only managed to reply a very puny "no". Of course her mother was aware of the fact that her daughter didn't "hang out" with other girls, and so she just snorted scornfully. Finally she had brought herself to a bored "What is it?".

"I-it ... ," Eleanor had stuttered, "well, there ... eh ... there is ... a c-certain boy ..."

Her mother had promptly choked on the coffee she had been about to drink. She had coughed noisily, had beat her chest repeatedly and had looked at her daughter with a mixture of amusement and distrust.

"I beg your pardon?! My dear missy, aren't you still a little too young for that? And besides: you should first of all undertake some basic changes before you set sail into such dangerous areas!"

"But that's exactly what I want to talk to you about!" It had always been incomprehensible to Eleanor how unconcerned her mother had been towards the sorrows of her child.

"What do you want to know?" Eleanor's mother had smirked asking that. Again and again she enjoyed being superior to her daughter when this issue came up.

"Well ... how you call that special someone's attention to yourself..."

"Well," Eleanor's mother had writhed on the couch with pleasure to make herself a little more comfortable, "you should first of all dress differently. You look like your grandmother!"

When it came to boys, such comments and likewise constructive tips would always come when Eleanor asked her mother for advice. For the most part, it aimed at Eleanor descending to her mother's level – which meant acting like an alley cat. After some time, she'd leave the living room in disgust while her mother would exaggerate her explanations, until she'd finally end them with always the same sentence, "That's life, baby girl!"


	3. Chapter 3

Eleanor lay on her bed, thinking hard. She clenched her fists, which were squeezed against each other a few inches above her forehead until they hurt. She had really tried to take her mind off by dint of reading and had turned on the TV instead after the first option hadn't helped. But that hadn't been a use either. So she had holed up in her bedroom and now eyed her scantily furnished four walls.

There were two small commodes next to her bed in which she kept her clothes (conscientiously ironed, of course) and her big desk, on which the writing utensils were accurately arranged to each other in appealing angles. Oh, and naturally the walls were covered with all kinds of shelves, on which Eleanor's books piled up – books about natural sciences, foreign cultures and history. But novels ... no, she didn't possess something of that kind. Why should she, what was she supposed to do with those? They were out of touch with reality anyway.

Eleanor turned her gaze away from her room and relaxed her hands. She stood up and opened the window in order to let the dewy air of the evening in. It smelled of rain outside. The darkening sky supported her assumption that there might be a thunderstorm coming up. Wonderful. Something Eleanor could look forward to.

Just that very moment she heard sounds from downstairs. Someone opened the front door and came in.

"Eleanor, pumpkin, are you there?" a male voice sounded. It was her father. But what was he doing home so early – on a Monday, on top of everything? Eleanor stepped out into the corridor and positioned behind the banister.

"_Hej Pappa!"_ she greeted him cheerfully and smiled. She was used to calling him "Pappa" instead of "Dad". At least when they were among themselves. She walked down the stairs and hugged her father.

"_Hej,"_ he mumbled, "what was your first day of school like?"

"Oh, it was OK," Eleanor fibbed. She had never told her father that in reality she had been mistreated and teased for ages. She didn't want to burden him. Furthermore, she had the feeling that he had other, more severe problems than her. And indeed, he detached himself from her and asked with a glassy look in his eyes, "Where is your mother?"

Eleanor gulped and tried to sound neutral when she answered, "I don't know."

Her father shook his head hardly noticeable and shuffled into the kitchen. He was always so tired out after work that he, despite his young age, moved like a frail old man. Eleanor's father was barely 35 years old. But due to the dark circles around his eyes and the many streaks of gray in his dark blond hair one would estimate him considerably older. And it wasn't only his work that ripped him off like that. Primarily, the crucial factor was his wife.

Eleanor's father was a Swede, born in the seaport Trelleborg, and had emigrated to the United States with his parents at the age of 8. While his parents had learned the new language quite slowly, he had adopted an enormous vocabulary in no time and spoke English fluently by now, without any accent.

He was, like his daughter, an ambitious person and not at all one of the men one would classify as a "ladies' man". Thus he had been very surprised at the fact that he had been able to attract such a good-looking woman like Eleanor's mother. And his classmates had reacted the same way: they had been flabbergasted to see him dating one of the most popular girls of the school for prom. The faces of the agape enviers had become even more shocked as they had recognized her convex belly. Eleanor's mother had been in her fifth month at that time and she had married her boyfriend shortly after graduation. Eleanor's father had already accepted a profitable job that had rendered him the possibility to look after his small family while he would attend university, and that had ensured him many more employment opportunities in his future life.

Eleanor's mother, on the other hand, had neither finished an apprenticeship nor had she ever applied for one. She enjoyed being a kept woman, Eleanor had discovered that quite early. She even doubted that it had been a love-match on the part of her mother, rather a colt-hearted, calculated decision. She had to admit that her mother was smart, and if she wanted something she knew exactly how to get it. And the way it looked like lately, she wanted an exciting change in her monotonous life as a housewife in the form of numerous man friends. Eleanor had the foreboding that it would catch even her father's eye someday. Maybe a crises already approached and she hadn't noticed it yet. There was simply too less communication in her family.

Eleanor's father took off his lab coat and placed it on the back of a chair before he sat down on the latter, moaning.

"Be so kind and make me a tea, would you?" he asked his daughter. Eleanor nodded silently and tampered with the kettle. She opened the cupboard door above her head and took out a little jar with black tea. East Frisian Tea, the label read, from Germany. She put a wee bit of the odoriferous mix into the tea ball and laid it next to her father's favorite teapot. He was a passionate tea drinker and liked to look for new acquisitions at any flea market. The water in the kettle started boiling. Eleanor took it off the stove and poured the hot liquid into the teapot before she dipped the tea ball into it.

"7 minutes," she said, more to herself than to her father, who she constantly had to remind to remove the tea ball, so that he wouldn't spoil his refreshment. She put the teapot and a mug down in front of him and was already on her way out, because she didn't want to disturb his relaxation with her presence after a hard day of work. But his voice made her stop, "Please, stay with me a little longer. I spend so little time with you."

Eleanor turned around again. She accepted this offer willingly. He was right after all: they didn't share many moments. So she sat down opposite to him.

"What's the news, _Pappa_?" she asked. Her father kept silent, took of his glasses and rubbed his tired eyes.

"I just want to talk to you. You know, bad times are coming up to us."

The puzzled Eleanor stared at him and replied, "What do you mean by that? What's the matter?"

Her father didn't answer. He looked outside at the dark sky. A quiet sound of rolling thunder could be heard in the distance.

"The university withdrew our research grants." There was a disconcerting lull in conversation.

"What? Why?" Eleanor had jumped up as if she wanted to set off immediately to solve the problem. Her father rose slowly and put his hands on the shoulders of his daughter who was full of vim. He pushed her back onto her chair with gentle force.

"Believe me, I'd love to know that, too," he responded, walked over to the calender that was pinned to the wall and lifted the sheets of August and September.

"My lab must be cleared by the beginning of October," he went on. "They don't want me any more."

Eleanor's jaw dropped. She felt hot and cold shivers run down her spine at the same time.

"They ... want to fire you ...?" It cost her quite an effort to ask this question. Her father just nodded and moved towards the sink. He leaned on the countertop with both hands and drooped his shoulders.

"That's terrible. After all you've done for them!" Eleanor called out. She walked over to her father and hugged him from behind. She had never experienced him that crestfallen before.

"What are you going to do then?" she asked and couldn't prevent a single tear from rolling down her cheek. Her father turned around in her embrace and lifted his daughter's head affectionately to look into her eyes. He wiped away her tear and tried an encouraging smile.

"We will see," he whispered and snuggled Eleanor closer to him. _"Jag älskar dig."_ I love you. He kissed her forehead. It was no exaggeration to say that this single sentence cheered Eleanor up extraordinarily. She liked her other mother tongue a lot and she enjoyed speaking it as well. But since her mother didn't understand any Swedish, they had to limit the usage immensely.

"_Jag älskar dig __också,"_ she replied quietly. It thundered outside. The clock above the door ticked unusually loud, as if it wanted to rival the noise level of the thunderstorm. Eleanor looked at the hands of the clock.

"_Pappa_, I think your tea has become bitter by now."

--

A glistening lightning corrugated the pitch black sky in front of Eleanor's window. Only seconds later the thunder was heard, a loud bang that made the window panes quake. The rain pattered on the glass like the drumbeats of an execution. Eleanor loved thunderstorms. This wonder of nature was extremely fascinating to her: the interplay of the sounds, the odor of the rain and above all the incredible power with which the electricity discharged and was capable of destroying both living and dead material in a split second. She opened the window and the wind striped her nose. The rat girl took a deep breath of this genial odor and felt good and free for the first time this day.

It didn't leave her cold that her father would be unemployed soon – provided that he didn't find another appointment within the next weeks. To be frank, Eleanor didn't believe in an immediate success either, because the laboratories were predominantly looking for young and flexible scientists who stepped into working life just after graduating from university. No, no negative thoughts, she forbade herself.

In order to take her mind off she reflected her parents' relationship again. It was unimaginable for Eleanor to be a prospective mother at this age. She looked down at her belly and imagined that it was shaped like the typical one of a pregnant woman. The rat girl cringed and shook her head vehemently to dispel this thought. Apart from the fact that she was way too young – her mother had been right for once when she had warned her, "Don't do the same mistake I did!", but of course Eleanor had recognized which information had been behind that phrase anyhow. In any case: apart from the fact that she was way too young, the question whether or not a man would fall in love with her someday remained unanswered. It looked bad at the moment. Shoot, things had to change! If Eleanor wanted to keep up, she would have to act.

A flash of lightning hit the apple tree in the neighboring garden and set the treetop afire. And something flashed up in Eleanor's head as well. What if she just gave it a try? What if she acted a little more informal, if she began sharing the other girls' interests, if she emphasized her impression on the opposite sex and her appearance a little more and deferred school a wee bit? It wouldn't be amiss. It was some kind of experiment after all, and moreover: what was there to lose for Eleanor?

With a smirk on her face she slammed the window shut and got ready for bed. She would show the ropes to them all!

--

A loud clang made Eleanor wake up with a start. She promptly straightened up and fumbled for the bedside lamp. She switched on the light and looked at the alarm clock: it was half past three in the morning. The rat girl drowsily rubbed her eyes and asked herself who or what made such a noise so late at night. The thunderstorm had surely passed by. Eleanor listened to the silence. Muted noises could be heard from downstairs: shuffling footsteps and a hardly discernible groaning. Was that perhaps ...?

"Carolyn, where the heck have you been? Do you know what time it is already?" the accusing voice of Eleanor's father sounded. Apparently, her mother had recurred from one of her pub crawls.

"What's that to yooouuu?!" she blustered. Oh no, Eleanor thought, she's drunk. It didn't look well at all.

"Well, I was worried sick!" He sounded only nervous by now.

Eleanor knew that it was rude to eavesdrop on her parents and, even worse, to watch them in such a situation. But her curiosity was stronger, and so she got up carefully, tiptoed out of her room and peered around the corner, downstairs to where her parents stood.

"Oh, I'm sooo sorry! How can I redress wha' I've done?" Eleanor's mother piped. She chuckled, drew nearer to her husband and pressed her lips onto his. She kissed him greedily and ran her fingers through his hair.

"Don't go on like that!" he hissed as he pushed her away. "If you keep being that loud, you'll wake up Eleanor!"

"I don' care," Eleanor's mother purred. "Let her notice what I'll doooo with ya in a moment ... She's gonna learn somethin' along tha way!" She promisingly stripped off her jacket and pushed her husband into the bedroom. He could barely cling to the door frame.

"You've lost control over yourself!"

Eleanor's mother pulled a face and made eyes at him. She played with the collar of his pajamas.

"What's up, Martin? Ain't I good enough for ya any more?" she asked, acting naive.

"You've got to be kidding me!" he laughed. "You are roaming the streets around-the-clock and expect me to obey when you demand attention?!"

Eleanor's mother clicked her tongue and aspirated, "Yes."

Her husband grimaced, pushed her away and said, "You're off your head!" Thereupon, he turned around, disappeared into the bedroom and closed the door behind him.

"Fine!" Eleanor's mother bellowed. "I'll go an' sleep on tha couch then ... if my _hubby! -_ doesn't wanna be caressin' t'me any more!" She bent down for her jacket, which almost ended in a tumble onto the flagging, and then staggered into the living room, swearing while she did so. Eleanor felt embarrassed in view of this scene. She asked herself whether she would be just as her mother one day, driven by desperation and unfulfilled needs. She lumbered back to her room carefully and sent a prayer to heaven, begging that this condition may never set in.


	4. Chapter 4

The next morning the young rat awoke with terrible twinges in her abdomen. Instinctively, she held her stomach when sitting up and swung her legs out of the bed. After the return of her mother, Eleanor had had bizarre nightmares the remaining night. She couldn't remember what exactly had happened. What had stuck in her memory, however, was her mother, who had torn her daughter's clothes to tatters brutally, had placed her in front of a mirror and had screeched, "Look at yourself! Look closely! You're a woman now!" Then she had jerked the hands off the face of the sobbing girl and had forced her to look at her disfigured, naked body. Eleanor had screamed from disgust and self-hatred and had cursed her mother for passing on her genes to her, for giving life to her.

She instantly felt nauseous and hurried to get to the bathroom. There, she hunkered over the basin and waited until the nausea went by. Sweat ran over Eleanor's forehead. She panted for air and tried to focus her thoughts on something comforting. She remembered lying on the lawn in the park during summer break and watching the clouds. It helped, the pain in Eleanor's stomach eased. She gulped, turned away from the basin and took off her nightgown. Yet a little shaky, she entered the shower and turned on the water. How good this felt ...

When she left the bathroom, a towel wrapped around her body and another one around her dripping wet hair, she already heard the jingling of the dishes from downstairs. Her father would prepare breakfast since her disaffected mother would most likely not be able to do so this morning. And indeed: when Eleanor came downstairs, her father already bustled between the kitchen table and the kitchenette.

"Good morning, Eleanor!" he greeted his daughter. "What do you want for breakfast?" He sounded fervid and grinned widely. It was a bad attempt to suppress the events of yesterday.

"Granola," Eleanor answered shortspoken. She decided not to bring up his not very authentic good mood. Within seconds, her father had filled a bowl with everything that she fancied and set it down in front of her.

"Enjoy your meal!" he called a little too loud and gave his daughter a fillip to boot.

"_Pappa?"_ Eleanor said suspiciously. Her father's behavior was a bit fishy. "Is everything OK?"

"Of course!" he responded, almost indignantly. He placed Eleanor's hand on the spoon, clasped her fingers around the handle and moved it over to the bowl. "Now eat." Eleanor obeyed immediately.

"I have brooded over everything quite long tonight, you know, and I have resolved to use the remaining weeks in the lab best possible. There's no need being pessimistic." He leaned back and smiled at his daughter confidently. He was darn good at concealing his true feelings. While Eleanor ate, her father observed all of her moves. She didn't like that at all, but she allowed it.

When she pushed the bowl away and leaned over the table to thank him with a kiss for the delicious breakfast, he took her by the shoulders and looked into her eyes.

"I hope you know that I love you and that you make me proud." His eyes gleamed, they were filled with tears. Eleanor walked over to him and hugged him close.

"I know that, thank you, _Pappa_. I love you, too." She gave him a kiss on the cheek, took her school bag and waved goodbye.

"Have fun!" he wished her and smiled. Heartfelt, this time. I will, Eleanor thought. And she really meant it.

--

When she entered the school grounds, countless students sat or lay outstretched on the lawn and enjoyed the warm rays of the sun.

"Hey, Eleanor!" Of course it escaped none of her tormentors that she walked along the pavement towards the main entrance. "Been 'thunderstruck' yesterday?" they brawled. It was known that Eleanor was the only one who had the heart to go outside during a thunderstorm "to be close to nature". She raised her hand as a sign of greeting, but didn't deign to look at anybody. This gesture caused the majority of the attenders on the lawn to start cackling. The rat girl didn't mind. She pushed open the front doors and disappeared inside the school. Like yesterday, there wasn't anybody coming across her on the corridor and Eleanor's locker didn't contain any garbage or likewise adorable devises of her classmates. It was the quiet before the storm, but she knew how to prepare.

She exchanged some books and pulled out a writing pad and a pencil just the moment the bell announced the approaching begin of the first period. The doors of the main entrance flew open and the boys and girls of St. Canard High School made their way to the classrooms. Eleanor cowered behind a trophy showcase and waited. She didn't have to hold out long, for Preena and her clique were among the first who passed her. The rat girl gave the girls some time and then followed them with sufficient "safety margin". Eleanor could hear what they discussed.

"Say, Preena, what will you be wearing at Anthony's party?" Hannah asked curiously. She possibly hoped to snap up some useful advice. So was Eleanor's intention: she would gather information that was supposed to show her what she could change about herself and what she'd rather let alone. She'd only add some intellectual spice to it. It was primarily an "experiment" after all.

"It's quite simple: something that turns on the boys!" Preena bragged. "I bought a freaking glamorous dress in Italy. You'll keel over!" She proudly lifted her nose heavenward.

"Tell us, what does it look like?" Hannah begged.

"Hot!" Preena savored taking up the supreme hierarchy level in her circle of friends and that the other girls were looking up to her.

"Oh, Preena, specify it, will you!" Celeste grouched.

"What could such a dress look like?" Preena sounded as if she tried to make clear the essential principles of sex appeal to a couple of preschool children.

"Red!" the answer came quick like a shot. Preena nodded and added, "And it places emphasis on my charms." The girls whistled appreciatively.

Eleanor busily scribbled on her writing pad. She wasn't dumb, she knew that most of the boys paid attention to the outward appearance. But her focus lay primarily on taking in the girl's moves and on getting a rough idea of what kind of clothes they preferred. The interspersed comments about Anthony's party and who would be there (which was what the clique was currently talking about) was only useful additional information. After all, she didn't plan on walking about as revealing as Preena. She would create an intelligent mixture.

"Do you think our losers will come, too?" Preena asked spitefully. She already knew her girls' answer, but she wanted to be affirmed in her opinion.

"Don't be silly!" Celeste and Hannah waved aside. "Never ever! They aren't even invited."

"Oh right, you're so right. What a pity ..." Preena's bright voice cut through the air like a saccharine sword. It sufficed, Eleanor let the girls go. In her ambition, she hadn't noticed that she had ended up in the entirely wrong part of the school. She was on the third floor and needed to go back to the first. Into the bargain, her watch told her that she was about to be late for the very first time in her life. Eleanor cussed and hastily made her way downstairs. She rushed down the stairs and didn't pay further attention to where her feet carried her. Thus she stumbled over them and - as if this hadn't been bad enough – bumped into someone. Before she could even pinpoint the pain, Eleanor struggled to her feet quickly, patted the dust off her clothes and turned towards her "victim". It was a boy, approximately her age, and – like her – a rat. He lay on his back, spread-eagled, the book that he had carried with him on his belly. He moaned quietly and rubbed his head.

"Dear me, I'm so sorry!" the rat girl sputtered. "I was lost in my thoughts and haven't realized that I have lessons on the first floor and I was in such a rush -"

"It's not as bad as all that," he cut in. Eleanor's vis-à-vis slowly straightened up, arose from the tiled floor, adjusted his jacket and said, "I hope _you're_ OK." He felt his own forehead and then looked at her in worry. His dark eyes were bright and inquisitive, whereas his posture imparted a similar timidity to hers. He bent down to pick up his book and set about doing the same with Eleanor's scattered paper sheets.

"No, no!" she exclaimed and didn't mean her condition but the sheets. She knelt down and hurried to collect all the sheets before he had the chance to do so. Eleanor stashed them away into her writing pad and plugged it into her bag. Then she recognized the book that the boy held in his hand.

"You've got Physics, too?" she inquired.

"Eh ... yes, right." For a moment they both remained silent. Then it began to dawn on them that they were already late. They exchanged a shocked look and, without another word, ran to the wing of Natural Sciences together.

Eleanor knocked on the door diffidently and opened it. She felt herself blushing immediately as she entered the room.

"I have experienced a lot, but my two best students being late – that's a debut!" Mr. Kingsley, their Natural Sciences teacher, flashed the two an icy glance. Everybody had turned around in their seats and began snickering. Eleanor, the model student, was tardy – in company of a boy. This would set off a fuse in their heads! The two betook themselves to the last empty chairs in the backmost row and sat down. Mr. Kingsley wrote an entry into the class-register. Eleanor gulped. Her cheeks still pulsated.

"I'm sorry that I kept you," the boy apologized. He gave her an unhappy impression, but Eleanor waved aside.

"Don't worry. But say: how come I've never met you before? I mean-" She looked over to the front to see whether Mr. Kingsley was watching. Luckily, he was busy with writing assignments onto the blackboard. "I mean, we're in the same year, but we haven't had any courses together yet. Nor have I noticed you in the corridor."

"Well, I guess I'm as inconspicuous as you," he admitted and smiled warmly. Eleanor perfectly knew what he meant.

"May I ... eh ... ask your name?" he asked shyly and blushed.

"Of course. My name is Eleanor Johansson. And you are ...?"

He offered his hand to her. "I'm pleased to meet you, Eleanor. I'm Elmo, Elmo Sputterspark." Eleanor took his hand gratefully and shook it. She had the feeling that she had found someone like-minded at last.


	5. Chapter 5

_Author's Note: Yay, chapter 5 already! Thank you so far for your support and your reviews! I'm glad to see that you like my story. Please remain true to it. )_

_I already mentioned it in my profile, yet I want to remind you: English is not my mother tongue, so if there are heavy mistakes or stuff – let me know! Furthermore, I'd like to point out that I arranged the chronology of events in St. Canard High School a little more different from what you might consider as normal. I kindly ask you to accept that._

_OK, now off you go! Enjoy chapter 5! )_

Elmo Sputterspark's everyday life in St. Canard High School had been affected by humiliation and torment from the day he had first set foot onto the school ground. His passionate interest in Natural Sciences had indeed attracted his classmates' attention, but always in negative respects. Day-to-day, he had to bear the comments of the others who designated him "geek" and "nerd" – on their generous days.

During recesses, out in the corridor, he always had to keep an eye on his step and whom he was looking at, because practically everything he did or said was a reason for the others to trip him up or to curse at him. Elmo's life was harder than Eleanor's, because both females and males (and mainly the latter) slashed at him permanently. At least once a day he ended up in any garbage can, headlong, or his face was – mostly with the aid of a foot – forced to make the acquaintance of the tiled floor.

What was exposed to verbal attacks the most was Elmo's looks: he wasn't too tall, but his hands and feet were all the more bigger, his coloring tended towards gray and he had "wobbliness" written all over his face. Seeing his figure, "meager" was a compliment and his dress style was far more than getting used to, for he looked more than a bank apprentice or a student of economics with – nota bene – badly fitting and obnoxiously color-coordinated clothing. And his hair ... well, to him, it was a virtual disaster. It was shoulder-length, dark brown and so disobedient that he never managed to tame it. Apart from that, Elmo didn't care about his appearance, but at the same time he was aware of the fact that it would bestow derision and malice on him until the end of his schooldays. But he didn't feel like changing anything about it either. He had gotten used to his status among the students.

And then, all of a sudden, this girl had appeared. Eleanor was her name and she seemed to bear the same misery. As a matter of fact, he had repeatedly noticed how she had been worn down psychically by other girls. In this respect, Elmo was glad not to be a girl. Girls could be incredibly cruel. He had been ashamed back then of not having stood up for her, but in private he had felt that they each had to fight their silent struggle alone. But times had changed. Now he had officially got to know her and taken to her on the spur of the moment. She didn't make fun of him, she had an enormous intellect and she shared his interests.

Elmo and Eleanor had had a nice time after Physics and he really appreciated finally being able to talk to a person who was on his wavelength. When he walked home this afternoon, he was in high spirits.

Elmo could absolutely imagine that they would form a friendship.

--

Also Eleanor felt excellent when she dropped onto her bed and reviewed the day. Everything went like clockwork. Sounding out the girls had been so much easier than she had expected. And having met Elmo had surely not been a silly coincidence. It had made her day, because they were soulmates. There was absolutely no doubt about it. But she didn't want to let him in on her plan. She had to weather through it on her own. And the next step was already taken.

Shortly before the end of the school day, a brightly colored notice that was pinned to the bulletin board had drawn Eleanor's attention. It had promoted the school's cheerleader team and announced that the tryouts for the candidates would take place in 6 weeks. Eleanor hadn't hesitated and had written her name onto the registration form. The selection committee would get into a paddy, first and foremost Preena, who was chairwoman. But they were obligated to grant equal chances to all participants, because the tryouts and the trainings were supervised. So if Preena got up to a bit of no good, a teacher would notice it.

A satisfied smile emerged on Eleanor's face when she thought of that. Nevertheless, she knew that it would be a long and difficult path. She wasn't at all fit, her gymnastic talent wasn't worth mentioning either and she approximately possessed the grace of a footsore giraffe. But the opposite was learnable, and if there was something that Eleanor was proficient in, then it was the acquirement of skills by means of theoretic knowledge.

She fetched her writing pad and spread the sheets out in front of her. She arranged them so that she could distinguish between the several tasks and the fields of application. Eleanor had a good deal of work to do: she had to learn how to paint her face and how to make the most of her hair, she needed new clothes, she had to build up her stamina – and she had to do what dreaded her most: she needed to practice flirting.

She had never done that before and didn't grasp the concept of it either. If someone paid her a compliment (which happened very rarely), she wouldn't know what to do with it. And now she was supposed to turn the tables on it. But there was no use worrying about the outcome of the mission by now. She was intellectually superior to all of them and as long as she acted that way, Eleanor would be on the safe side.

She walked over to her commodes, opened the drawers and singled out her entire clothes at once. She dropped them and surveyed them mistrustfully. In a way, the girls were right: Eleanor could slowly but surely accustom herself to walking about a little more fashionable. Not so prudish and high-necked any more, no: a little more sexy, but not too revealing. She diligently sorted out what didn't go with her new scheme. What remained was a small huddle of plain-colored T-shirts and a dress that she had inherited from her grandmother. Even though this piece of clothing was so much older than Eleanor, it pleased her a lot: it was black with white polka dots, knee-length and was tied up in the neck. She had never worn it so far, but she was all the more looking forward to the debut.

After the big clear-out, Eleanor paused for a moment in front of the last drawer, whose content she had wanted to save till the end: her underwear. She took a deep breath and emptied the drawer as well. It was difficult for the rat girl to deal with these items of clothing, since they directly related to her body – and she had a very tense relation to the latter.

It had taken up a long time before it had decided that it was time to change. Eleanor could perfectly recall envying the other girls, given her own depauperated body. They had lamented when their menses had afflicted them, they had proudly displayed their new bras or conspicuous small pills to the others. Eleanor hadn't been able to join in the conversation and had, as always, been the outsider. But then, over night, it seemed, everything had started to change. When Eleanor's body had woken from its 16-year-lasting winter sleep, it had forthwith begun to produce ample amounts of estrogens for the rest of her life. It was as if Eleanor's corporeal grown-up self had waited in a cocoon, merely to hatch with a preferably impressive entrance at last.

The petite, lanky girl had assumed shape around her hips at first. Her waist had formed and had left an interesting curve which blended well with her legs. Eleanor's back, which had exhibited an unhealthy bending in her childhood, had straightened. The rolling line of her spine let stick out her buttocks – slightly, but not obtrusively. They were small, but they had the certain something that girls referred to as the desirable shape of an apple.

All this femaleness was eldritch and weird to her, but the part of her body between her belly and her neck had always caused her the most sorrows – and it still did. Sometimes Eleanor had the feeling that there was a monster living in her chest that tried to struggle for revelation. And the monster had made a good job of it last year. Watching her bosom's growth was eerie and disgusting. It wasn't huge, but it had nevertheless reached an opulent size by now. The poor rat girl could hardly keep up with buying new bras, and before PE she always hurried to be one of the first who had changed. Eleanor knew exactly that otherwise she would be the center of attention, and she wanted to avoid that by all means. Therefore, no matter where she went, she wore clothes that were a little more roomy, so nobody would raise the issue.

It was awfully difficult for her to understand that she wasn't a kid any more, that she was a woman – furthermore with a body that could be a model's. But it was no use. Much as Eleanor loathed her body: she had to learn how she could use it for her benefit. Even if that meant that she had to betake herself to a field that was beneath her.

So Eleanor didn't take pity on her underwear either and put everything away that didn't seem girlish enough. She stored the clothes she had sorted out in a box, which she stashed away under her bed. How liberating it was to leave one's old life behind.

--

Elmo sat at his writing desk and brooded about his homework. It had been a long time since he last hadn't been able to solve a physical problem at once. To be frank, it had never been the case. He put the pen away, leaned back and looked out of the window. Just what was it that preyed on his mind in a way that he couldn't think properly any more?

Hamilton String, whose favorite victim he was, had been downright mild to him today. Maybe he had had one of his generous days. Maybe it had also been due to the fact that he and Preena had been at loggerheads with each other during lunch break. Elmo didn't know why they had argued. It was nothing to him after all. Apart from that, he had learned to turn a deaf ear concerning the two over the years. Thus, he missed the constant quarreling on the one hand and all the insults bounced off him on the other hand. - No, his absent-mindedness was caused by something different.

Was it perhaps something like upcoming exam nerves? It would still take a long time until the school leaving examinations, but could it actually be that this got to him?

"_Nonsense!"_ the little voice in Elmo's head protested, which told him off again and again when he had self-doubts. "_You will pass all your exams with flying colors and make history as the best student this educational establishment has ever had at best!" _Much as it sounded boastful: Elmo had to concede a point to the voice. With the utmost probability, he would _not _fail.

He moved over to the window with his stool and looked down onto the street. Nothing doing, as always. But, hold it – what was that? Somebody passed by – no, jogged by. And somehow Elmo had the feeling that he knew that person. When she had approached close enough, he saw that it was Eleanor. The rat boy startled and shied away from the window. Did she know that he lived here? He ventured to look out. She seemed to pay no further attention to the house, but just jogged on. Her moves looked unexercised, she probably didn't spend much time on jogging.

Elmo breathed a sigh of relief, but nevertheless found himself gazing at her until she had disappeared from his sight.


	6. Chapter 6

_Author's Note: Sorry for the late update! I've been busy the past few days and couldn't finish translating chapter 6 before today. I hope you'll enjoy it! Please R&R!_

--

"Cheerleader?"

Eleanor nodded proudly and couldn't avoid her cheeks blushing.

"Wow!" Elmo nodded back in appreciation – and something dawned on him. "I see, that's why you've been jogging about so excitedly yesterday evening!"

Eleanor's face turned pale. How did he know? Her facial expression seemed to speak volumes, for he quickly added, "I live down by the river. I saw you."

Eleanor bit her bottom lip. They had just become acquainted with each other, and yet she had shoehorned herself into an embarrassing situation. The formalities between the two had just been clarified. After their rambling conversation on the day of their meeting, each knew a little about the likes and dislikes of the other, and Elmo's curiosity had been aroused when Eleanor had mentioned that she was half Swede. He had been very excited and had wrenched the promise from her to teach him some Swedish one day. A solid base seemed created. Much as Eleanor shared her little secret with Elmo, it made her feel uneasy that he had seen her. She avoided looking at him, but at the same time she knew that he was waiting for a reaction.

"Will we meet outside during lunch break?" she asked at last.

"That's fine with me," Elmo replied and shrugged. He would otherwise be sitting around by himself somewhere. Eleanor's company was much more enjoyable.

"Good, see you later, then," Eleanor mumbled and disappeared into the opposite classroom. Elmo nodded in agreement, but he rejected the desire to wave to her. It would have been to suspicious. The others already looked daggers at him anyway.

--

When lunch break started, Eleanor straightway set out for outside. She walked across the lawn towards the sports field in a quick pace and headed for the bleachers. Beneath the tiers, sitting on a low-ceilinged cross beam between the steel girders, Elmo waited for her. He had probably been watching out for trouble makers, because his strained facial expression didn't soften until he saw her.

"Hi!" he greeted the rat girl and adjusted his posture in trying to appear as relaxed as possible. Eleanor smiled shyly and sat down next to him. She silently broke out her water bottle and a bowl that was covered with aluminum foil.

"Sorry, but I'm starving," she declared, fetched a plastic fork and plucked the foil off the bowl. It contained a salad. In private, she hoped to keep Elmo quiet as long as possible with that message. But before she could taste the first morsel, he had a comment down pat. "You are really taking it seriously, huh?"

Eleanor drooped her fork. She ought to have known better. Elmo was not the kind of guy who settled for a simple statement while he scented further information behind it. And he wouldn't let up until he knew the tiniest details. An invisible hand pointed at Eleanor in her head – she inevitably felt reminded of herself. Hence, it was useless to be mad at him just because he had seen her jogging. She could just as well have been jogging past Preena's house without noticing it. So she pulled herself together and trained her green eyes on him.

"Yes, indeed," she sighed. He looked her over from head to toe and back.

"But you are already so skinny." The rat girl felt uneasy; she felt his examining look clinging to her body and knee-jerkily pushed the salad bowl to her chest in order to obstruct the view on her bosom. It was childish how uptight she acted and she objurgated herself for it. It was part of her plan not to be too hard on her body, and yet: in the presence of a person like Elmo, it was difficult for her to even embark upon it.

"Yes, but I need to watch my weight," she explained herself sheepishly. How crackbrained that sounded!

"If you only forbid yourself to do what you like, you'll rather obtain the opposite," the rat boy countered. This disarmed Eleanor's argument immediately. She drooped her eyelids and pecked at her food. Despite the trust she put in Elmo, he wouldn't come to know why she did all that – not yet. She didn't feel able to tell him. And apart from that, he would possibly not be able to comprehend why she did it.

"Here's my proposition: I give you a bit of my lunch and you let me try your salad. It looks delicious, you know?" he suddenly piped up. Eleanor's cheeks adopted a meaningful red glare again.

"Thank you ... ," she murmured. The salad was of her own making and Elmo's praise did her good.

"What's in your bowl?" she inquired curiously and came a little closer.

"Curry rice with prawns," he responded and displayed his bowl. "It isn't hot any more, but it's nevertheless very tasty."

Eleanor helped herself to a bit of the odoriferous food and shoved it into her mouth. It tasted excellent. Her thrilled facial expression made Elmo grin.

"You may have all of it," he offered her. "There are enough proteins in it, so you don't have to worry about your weight." They looked at each other and burst out laughing simultaneously. How exhilarant and uncomplicated a conversation with Elmo was! With his polite and friendly disposition he let Eleanor forget all her sorrows: the stress at home, the taunts in school and the thoughts she kept having about her plan.

For the first time in her life, the rat girl had the feeling that she shared something with a classmate that was beyond a simple acquaintanceship. Elmo wasn't just there, no: he was there _for her_. He was a friend.

--

The next days spun away. Eleanor had never thought that (as far as school was concerned) she would be looking forward to something different than the subject matters. But Elmo had given her reason.

It lifted her spirits every time she saw him and talked to him during recess. She had to be attentive not to cause a stir, though, because otherwise Preena and her girls would be keen on the issue. But as far as the rat girl could tell, it went quite well, because the last days had turned out to be very calm. A little too calm in Eleanor's opinion, but she was not so starry-eyed to believe that it would go on that way. On the contrary: her tantalizers would carry their jokes to extremes if they found out about the alliance, the emerging friendship between Eleanor and Elmo. Thus, the two aimed to meet only at places that were seldom or never haunted by the others during school, and they also paid heed to not being seen together too often.

It was definitely possible that there was already slowly growing unrest, that there were already circulating rumors about them being a couple or something like that. They really weren't in love for each other. But as it is generally known, rumors entail the nasty attribute that the victims always find out about them last of all and that denying rarely puts the protectionists off from believing in the falsehood. Particularly when Eleanor or Elmo were in the focus of interest. But Eleanor knew how she could prevent the would-be overboil in the rumor mill. It was time to make her plan come alive.

Since the tryouts and thus the beginning of the crucial phase of her plan were pending in a few weeks, Eleanor urgently had to do some shopping downtown. In order not to be recognized, she tied up her hair in a simple ponytail and put on some sunglasses she had borrowed form her mother's commode. She also didn't wear her frumpy old blouse and the way too long skirt, but a plain, green t-shirt and a washed-out pair of jeans. The girl had taken both from her mother's closet. She wouldn't notice it anyway, drunk as she was.

Eleanor contemplated herself in the mirror and adjudicated positively on her appearance. It was good enough for shopping. She scraped her loose money together and set off with a slightly queasy feeling in her stomach, but nevertheless filled with anticipation.

--

When Eleanor returned in the evening, she was enriched by several new clothes and just as much money worse off. She put down the many bags in front of her in order to unlock the front door quietly. She acted on the assumption that at least her father would be home, and he definitely would catechize her why she squandered so much money. Eleanor turned the key and slipped in the house. She closed the door behind her, shouldered the big bags, took the smaller ones into her hand and tiptoed to the stairs, when she suddenly heard a penetrating voice say, "Where have ya been burglin'?"

Eleanor railed quietly and turned around. Her mother stood in the living room door and frowned. Her eyes focussed no particular spot, and the smell of ethanol that emanated from her told Eleanor why.

"I went shopping," the girl corrected her mother. In a sense, she could be happy that she was non compos mentis. That way, she wouldn't remember this situation tomorrow.

"With which money? Did ya beloved _Pappa_ pay for it?" Eleanor's mother scowled at her daughter. Apparently, she believed that her husband would ax her the money. Eleanor asked herself why this hadn't happened long ago. She shook her head and got ready to climb the stairs, but her mother took hold of her wrist.

"Show me whatcha got there!" she babbled. Eleanor broke away from her mother and looked at her with a mixture of pity and disgust.

"Don't bother me!" she spat and turned to the stairs. A big mistake. Her mother spun her around with an unexpected strength and grabbed her rudely by the shoulders. Frightened, Eleanor dropped quite a number of bags.

"Listen up, missy! We ain't best friends, and we'll never be." Her mother's words burned like vitriolic acid in Eleanor's ears. She shook her daughter and yelled, "But I'm your mother, gosh darn it, and ya gotta show me respect!!" She lifted her right hand, ready to strike a blow. In contemplation of a slap in the face, Eleanor shut her eyes tightly and hoped that the alcohol hadn't granted additional vigor to her mother. But nothing happened. She only heard suppressed swearing of the nastiest kind. Eleanor opened her eyes. Her mother was paralyzed in her pose, hold down by her husband. Pure hatred spoke from her eyes, with which she stared at her daughter like a maniac.

"Have you taken leave of your senses?!" Eleanor's father hollered. He tried hard to control his flexuous wife. In response, she just spat in his face. Albeit, he pushed her towards the bedroom and jostled her inside. He then quickly closed the door and locked it.

"Lemme outta here!!" Her voice slowly distorted. She pounded the door and joggled the doorknob like mad. "I'll sue you! I'll sue you BOTH!!"

"Get sober first!" Eleanor's father answered furiously. He leaned against the wall and breathed out loudly. Eleanor, who had just been standing there like frozen, put down the remaining bags, walked over to her father and hugged him dearly.

"Thanks," she whispered. He kissed his daughter's head and stroked her hair. A splintering noise could be heard from the bedroom. Eleanor stared at the door, horror-stricken.

"Don't bother," her father soothed her. "Let her throw things. But I won't let her hit you." He wiped away his wife's spittle with his sleeve and looked at his daughter lovingly. Eleanor nestled to her father's chest a little more.

"What if she tries to ..."

" ... split?" he finished the sentence for her. "Through the fly screen? She needs a knife for that."

Eleanor briefly gave some thought on whether it would have been better if he had thrown her out of the house than risking that she picked the furnishings to pieces. But she would have fled to one of her guys then, where she would have spent the whole night, drinking even more and holding forth about her family.

"Open the door, NOW!" Eleanor's mother shrieked. "I know you're still hangin' around out there!"

"Don't pay attention to her." Eleanor's father gave his daughter another kiss on the cheek. "She will cool down in a while."

"But I'm ... afraid of her ... ," Eleanor confessed. Frankly, she didn't only fear her, but she also feared _for her_. What if her mother did something to herself in her frenzy?

"Don't you worry, pumpkin. As long as I am here, nothing will happen to you." Eleanor's father ceased from her and implied her to go upstairs. She nodded, picked up the bags and hastened upstairs and into her room.

She locked the door, put down the bags and dropped herself onto her bed. Downstairs, her mother kept ranting. That monster, the rat girl thought and boxed the bed-head until her ankles hurt. In doing so, the little, old teddy bear, which Eleanor possessed since her childhood, inched towards her until he touched her head. It was as if he wanted to put one of his stubby arms around her consolingly.

"Hey, Murphy." She turned her face towards him and petted his linty cheek. Since she had him, the bear solaced her when she was sad. Her father had once brought him along and had precisely explained her the meaning of his name and his function.

"There is a law called 'Murphy's Law'," he had said. "It says that 'whatever can go wrong, will go wrong'."

"But why is he called 'Murphy' then? Is he an unhappy bear?" the rat girl had confusedly interrupted him.

"No, on the contrary. Let me explain it to you: the name is a symbol. Whenever you are in trouble, whenever you are sad or in doubt about yourself: talk to Murphy! Tell him about it! He can neither give you advice, nor can he hug you, but he will listen. And that is what counts. Together you can break Murphy's Law."

Back then, Eleanor hadn't grasped the use of the teddy properly. She was a clever girl, but she had failed to see why a stuffed animal should give her a comfortable feeling when she needed human heartiness.

As she had grown older, however, she had discovered what her father had aimed at: sometimes, out of certain situations, people just can't console you or pay attention to you in an appropriate way. And when Eleanor reflected this train of thoughts out of her current situation, it all made more sense than ever. Her father wasn't able to pay proper attention to her sorrows and fears. Subconsciously, he was always all too occupied with his wife and the problems they had. One could even suggest that with the handing over of the teddy bear a slowly fulfilling prophecy had come into effect.

Back then, Eleanor's father hadn't foreseen what would approach his family one day. But probably something had urged him to apologize to his daughter in advance for all the mistakes he would be making in the future.


	7. Chapter 7

_Author's Note: Sorry for updating so late again! Right now I'm only translating, translating, translating. Unfortunately, it takes longer than it should, but I hope that you remain true to my story. Thanks for all your support; I'll do my best to update sooner next time._

_--_

When Eleanor awoke, her face was buried in her pillow. She brought herself to a sitting position and rubbed her raw eyes. She put her glasses, which stuck out from her nose in a weird angle, onto the bedside table.

She had just arrived at the conclusion that it probably had been the exhaustion that had made her fall asleep when someone knocked on the door gently.

"Eleanor, pumpkin, may I come in for a minute?" It was her father. Who else? Her mother wouldn't come to her after all that. There was another knock at the door. But Eleanor didn't answer. She didn't want to see anybody at the moment.

"Please, open the door." The voice of her father sounded imploring, almost desperate. Eleanor instantly had a guilty conscience and thus hurried to open the door for her father. She kicked aside the shopping bags so he didn't have to sidestep.

"Sit down," she muttered and asked him in by gesture. Eleanor's father accepted the invitation, sat down on her bed and ran his hand over the pillow. He had a sixth sense as far as his daughter's condition was concerned.

"I cry a lot myself, you know?" he admitted. "The next time I sense that you are in bad shape I'll come to you immediately. We must stick together in such moments."

The rat girl couldn't remember crying, but the situation seemed to gnaw at her father's conscience. Eleanor saw his unhappy facial expression and sat down next to him. She took his hand and squeezed it.

He went on, "I'm sorry that I can't be there for you all the time." The last words had turned into a barely recognizable whisper and hurt Eleanor tremendously.

"_Pappa_ ... ," she began. "You can't always be there for me. I know that, and you don't have to either. One day, I will have to do without your support and your good advice anyway."

This perception pained her just as much and Eleanor perceived a trace of bitterness in her father's eyes. Don't leave me alone with this fiend, she read in them.

"When your mother is approachable again, I will talk turkey to her. Everything will be alright." He looked at his daughter as if he wanted to ask, "I am right, ain't I?"

Eleanor kept silent. He was actually so naive and gave good in her mother still a break. He truly had to love her much. Eleanor didn't want to destroy her father's rope of sand, yet she struggled with herself to make him face the truth. By now, he _must _have recognized that she was unfaithful! The rat girl worked up the courage to address the problem and opened her mouth, but he was quicker.

"I think the marriage counseling could help us," it burst out of him. He didn't sound convinced, though. Rather like a madman who tried to convince the security guards in front of his padded cell that he was in his right mind. Eleanor felt ashamed of that thought, but it was a fact: love was able to turn the most rational persons into blind idiots.

"I don't believe that you can still change something about your present situation." Now it was out. Eleanor's father looked at his daughter, stunned. He grabbed her by the shoulders.

"If you just believe in what you want to achieve and additionally trust in God, then you'll make it!" he objected. "Mark my words!"

It was hopeless, he failed to see the truth. A relationship consisted of two persons, but one part of the Johansson family didn't take interest in the one and only, the true love any more – only in money. Eleanor was gutted about her father's hidebound attitude and detached herself from him.

"Please let me be on my own now,"she mumbled.

"Good," he sighed and rose. "But you'll see: I am right." He left the room and closed the door.

Eleanor believed in God, but she was sure that He – like her – considered the breakup of her parents as the best solution.

--

During the next week, Eleanor tried not to appear too strained or too droopy in school. She didn't want to be offered any help again, because it would only aim at the recommendation to see a therapist about it in order to save her from an impending trauma.

As best as Eleanor succeeded in dissembling in presence of the few people she actively dealt with: she didn't succeed in fooling Elmo. His instinct told him that there was something badly fishy about her behavior. And since he wanted to console her and to support her, he straightforwardly addressed the issue.

"What's up with you?" The two were, once again, sitting in their regular space beneath the bleachers. Eleanor pretended not to know what he was speaking of and twisted a strand of hair, which had loosened from her bun, around her finger.

"You ask me what's up? My head is crammed with subject matters, which I am trying to arrange in proper order, and that's it."

"As always." Elmo was evidently not satisfied with that answer. "Something different stresses you. Is it something personal?"

„And if so, it wouldn't regard you as the term already implies!" Eleanor returned snappily. Elmo winced at that. He hadn't experienced her that huffy yet.

"I'm sorry." Eleanor cleared her throat. "I didn't mean it."

"Never mind. I just want you to know that you can talk about ... your problems ... um, I mean ... you can talk to me," he stammered. Eleanor giggled. He was dearest sometimes.

"Thank you," she said and beamed at him. It felt good to have a friend like Elmo.

--

On the weekend, Eleanor was alone at home. Her father had really managed to persuade her mother to go to a marriage counselor. At first, she had protested for quite a long time about what all this was supposed to help, they were fine after all. The tongue-in-cheek had, however, been unmistakable (yes, Eleanor had eavesdropped on them again). After some seesaw and because she had run out of counter-arguments in the end, she had let herself be talked round. Eleanor's parents wouldn't return before Sunday, hence she had enough time to deal intensively with her shopping, which had been disregarded since last week's commotion.

Eleanor arranged the content of the bags on her bed. There were many jeans among the pieces of clothing, also some skirts, but shorter, more figure-hugging ones. Furthermore, she had bought new underwear and a lot of nifty tops and t-shirts which accentuated her curves, too.

It had cost Eleanor quite an effort to change and to slip over the selected items of clothing in front of the mirror again and again. She also didn't want to throw a second glance at the sales slip. She feared that she would feel queasy afterwards.

Eleanor lumbered into the bathroom, along with the pile of clothes. She put everything down in front of her, subdivided in categories, and positioned herself in front of the full-length mirror. Eleanor threw a last glance at her old self, even waved to it while doing so, whereupon her lips formed a soundless "Adieu". Then she doffed her glasses and started undressing. When she eventually stood there in her underwear, she paused.

The most important thing was to accept her body finally. Eleanor closed her eyes, took a deep breath. She put her hand onto the latch of her bra and opened it, then took off her slip and loosened her bun. The reddish-brown kinks fell down onto her shoulders. Eleanor looked at herself. She straightened her back in order to correct her posture. This had an alarming effect on her bosom, but she forced herself to look. Henceforth, she would have to be satisfied with this (admittedly: healthy) posture.

With her arms akimbo, Eleanor looked at herself from different angles. It was right: in the general opinion of society she had a quite well-proportioned body. Her skin was firm and taut and the color of her short fur was of a healthy color. Her face was well-proportioned, too. A run-of-the-mill face, though – nothing one would see on the title page of a renowned fashion magazine one day – but it was quite presentable. Her hair was neat and prim, her teeth were even (apart from the two buck teeth) and white.

"_Cotton on to your body!"_ the voice in her head commanded. But Eleanor didn't know how to do that.

"_Sense him!"_ it echoed in her brain. Eleanor gulped and diffidently ran her fingers over her cheeks, her lips, her neck. They crawled further down, around the neck and over her shoulders. Eleanor felt the slight resistance of her fur. All this still felt quite harmless. But when she reached her bosom, she stopped. If someone could see her like that ...

"_Come on, go on!"_ The little voice was almost more excited than her. _"Now we're really going to get started!"_

Eleanor trembled with fear, with excitement. Her hands slowly ran over her breasts and paused between them. They were firm, but cuddly - and warm. The rat girl could feel her heart bounce up and down. She started feeling comfortable with the touches. Her fingers crawled over her belly, over the hips and the waist to the back side, to her buttocks. Also the legs and feet enjoyed the contact of her hands. When she straightened up from her ducked posture, little shivers ran through her body, which made her fur stand up. She had, however, ignored a particular spot.

"_You're not finished yet ... ,"_ the voice piped up in an alluring singsong. Eleanor was terrified of what was supposed to come next, no – what _had_ to come next.

She had, of course, explored her body during puberty, but it had discomfited her. Mainly to approach the sensitive spot between her legs. But if she stopped now, she would have put way too less effort in all this. So she shakily moved her right hand along her thigh until she reached this mysterious spot. It was warm and a little wet. She led her fingers further and carefully ran over it. A pleasing prickle ran through Eleanor's body. She drew back her hand ashamedly. This wasn't supposed to turn into masturbation!

"_Stop thinking in such a niminy-piminy way! You are sensing your body for the very first time, and this comes with the territory!"_

The voice was right and realization took hold of Eleanor. She positioned herself in front of the mirror in the way she had done in the beginning and looked at herself. Without the slightest sign of tremble in her voice, completely self-assured, she said, "I am attractive." Her reflection smiled, it was a warm, eased smile.

Eleanor had managed it: her body was no more the abhorrent thing that carried her head and her brain. From now on, it was a part of her.


	8. Chapter 8

_Author's Note: I know, I know, it's been the biggest time span between two updates. Well – I lack time! And it might get even worse when university starts again in October. You'll have to get used to it, I'm sorry!_

_Anyway, thank you for all the support and the kind words! I appreciate every single review and that you remain true to my story! Please keep telling me what you like and what you don't like. May your patience be rewarded!_

_--_

On Monday morning, Elmo sat on the "geek bench", the only bench on the school grounds of St. Canard High School that was never occupied by the "cool" students. It was reserved for people like him, and it was, on closer examination, clear why: it was situated under a huge chestnut tree and served more as a target for the tree's fruits and a toilet for the pigeons than as a seating-accommodation. Over the years, the rat boy had learned to dodge the missiles of nature at the right moment. But still, it was an amusing spectacle for his classmates to see him wriggling unswervingly.

Elmo looked up at the clock above the entrance. Eleanor was running quite late. They had agreed that she would walk past him without a word, then he would wait and stand up after a few minutes to follow her to the wing of Natural Sciences. There, they would meet and talk about their weekends. It was quite paranoid to hide so vehemently from the others, but at a school that was swarmed with idiots they considered it best.

A shadow was cast over the rat boy. This bode ill, so he lifted his head hesitantly. But it was only Drake Mallard, the self-proclaimed school detective. Elmo didn't have anything against him, but he disliked his arrogance. At least the duck boy didn't pick on him, and this was a small if cold comfort.

"Hi, Elmo!" his priggish voice sounded. "How are you?"

"I'm fine, thanks," the rat boy replied sceptically. He marveled why the duck boy cared about him out of the blue.

"I'm glad to hear that." Drake looked about inconspicuously and then whispered, "May I talk to you in private, just for a sec?"

"You already do," Elmo remarked. Drake shook his head.

"No, not here. Somewhere we can not be disturbed."

"OK, what do you want?" Elmo inquired skeptically and rose an eyebrow. There was an embarrassed hush.

"Well ... ," Drake finally began and scratched his beak bashfully. "It interests me what is going on between you and Eleanor."

Elmo didn't believe what he had just heard. Apart from the fact that he and Eleanor were nothing but friends: how did Drake know? Had he been a fly on the wall? It was just like him after all. And another question was on the tip of his tongue, so he enunciated it, "Does it interest _you_ or the others over there?"

Elmo pointed over Drake's shoulder towards Hamilton and his buddies, who curiously craned their necks in their direction. He knew exactly that the duck boy didn't enjoy a good reputation among the students either and that he tried to gain sympathy by means of systematic information search about others. In Elmo's opinion, he wasn't worthy of calling himself "detective", on the contrary: Drake was a sleazy little snitch who couldn't keep a secret. Elmo even assumed that it had possibly been him who had put ideas into the others' heads concerning him and Eleanor.

"You think that I walk about and deal with other people's dirty work?" Drake laughed nervously. "No, honestly, _I _would like to find it out."

He looked for a clean spot on the bench and alighted himself on it, but made a face anyhow. He put his arm around the rat boy's shoulder and put on a smile that was supposed to be trustworthy, but that was obviously fake.

"Why on earth are you so keen on messing about with me?!" Elmo called out angrily and stood up. "Is it because you have problems in Math? I can tutor you if you want, but you don't need a stupid pretense to ask me for it!" Why was he talking such a trash?

The scene between the two boys seemed to attract the attention of Hamilton's clique even more, for they started to whisper excitedly behind Elmo's back. He didn't pay attention to it, but concentrated on Drake. The duck boy opened his beak, probably to utter an apologetic set phrase, but suddenly didn't focus on his vis-à-vis any more, but on a spot above his shoulder. His mouth was now wide open, his eyes had adopted a reverential expression. Before Elmo could wonder what all this fuss was about, a female voice sounded behind him.

"Is there a problem with you guys?" she asked.

Elmo turned around slowly and was faced with the green eyes of a young rat lady. Her face bore a lordly, yet kind-hearted expression and she looked at Elmo and Drake alternately in anticipation of an answer. There was nothing but a gurgling sound from Drake; it sounded as if someone tried to drown him. He jumped up from the bench and backed off a few steps, not without taking in the appearance thoroughly. Then he turned around and ran towards the entrance, looking back at frequent intervals again and again, which caused him to collide painfully with the glass doors. Hamilton and his pals burst out laughing.

"Wow, I never thought that I'd cause such a stir eventually!" Elmo's vis-à-vis piped up again. Only now did he recognize her - and he could instantly understand Drake's reaction. His jaw dropped, his eyes were wide open.

"Oh my goodness ... ," he whispered barely hearable. He didn't believe what he saw. "E-eleanor ...?" She nodded and gave him a bright smile. Elmo shook his head. He was totally stunned.

"What happened to you?" he asked, his voice much more high-pitched than intended. She had made radical changes. She didn't have her rigid bun any more, she wore her hair loose now. Her glasses had disappeared as well; they had presumably given way to contact lenses. Her once bushy eyebrows were plucked in form, she had applied mascara to her lashes and her lips were covered with a pink luster. She seemed to have abandoned her old concept regarding her clothes, too. She wore tight-fitting clothes: a green polo shirt with thin white horizontal stripes, a white pleated skirt that ranged to her knees and white sandals with laces. She came across as much more adult and self-confident than ever before and her body exuded a femaleness that didn't even leave Elmo unaffected. He found himself staring at her and he immediately felt ashamed for his immature demeanor.

"What do you think?" Eleanor inquired curiously.

"Why?" he blurted out. He felt unable to come up with a different response.

"I thought it was about time to shake up my life," she replied in a such a casual tone as if she was talking about the weather.

"Eh?" came Elmo's very intelligent reply. Eleanor rolled her eyes. What was so difficult to understand about that?

"Look," she said, "I just didn't feel like being a wallflower any more."

There was nothing he could say. He drooped and sank to the bench again. Small groups of students passed them, their mouths wide open in amazement and bewilderment. Little by little, the whole schoolyard seemed to realize that it was Eleanor, the "ugly duckling", who emerged as the beautiful swan that stood in front of the "geek bench".

"What's the matter? Say something!" she called upon the rat boy. He gulped and brought himself to an answer of which he feared that it wouldn't result in anything good, "I still don't get it, Eleanor. That's not you!" And sure enough, she puckered her lips promptly. It took a long time until she answered, and when she did so, her voice was as cold as ice.

"So you think that I will turn into a conniving bitch just because I doll myself up a little? And I thought you were one of those who believe in 'Beauty is but skin-deep'!"

"Wait, you're getting me wrong ... ," he tried to contradict.

"Just to let you know, Elmo: I don't do this for you or for one of the others, but solely for myself!"

With these words, she turned on her heels. It was right: he neither could nor wanted to bar her from doing all that. But he seriously wondered for which purpose she did it. Because he didn't really believe her statement.

Eleanor walked over to the entrance, lopping, and received admiring glances from the girls and lustful ones from the boys all round. Not surprising: her buttocks slightly swayed to and fro.

Elmo's view on his only ally in the battle against school terror had been shaken to the core.

--

During the next period, Eleanor wasn't able to think straight – which happened quite often lately. She had been amazed at how her classmates had been responsive to her transformation. She found it more than fascinating how agape and shocked their glances had been.

So it requires such easy methods to not being badgered any more, she thought. But she wasn't satisfied just yet, even if her present position had conferred her ample gratification and even some feeling of power. She had expected a more positive reaction from Elmo. Eleanor had expected that he would be able to guess the reason for her transformation, that he would be able to understand. Of course she hadn't told him explicitly that it was supposed to be an experiment. But he was, after all, smart enough to distinguish between reality and pretense, wasn't he ... ?

Someone tapped on Eleanor's shoulder. It was Cody, who sat right behind her. He held a folded note in his hand. His lips formed the words, "From Preena." The rat girl took the piece of paper from him, unfolded it and read, "Meet me in the cafeteria during recess."

She turned around and looked for Preena's glance, but she was occupied with the subject matters for once and didn't look back. What could she want? Eleanor deliberated whether to go or not. It couldn't matter what Preena had to say. But it would cast a damning light on Eleanor and her new image if she didn't show up. Thus she decided to risk it.

--

During recess, she firstly tried to head Preena off in front of the door, but she had already vanished when Eleanor rose from her seat. So she set about giving in to Preena's request and arrived in front of the cafeteria a few minutes later.

Every second student that passed her greeted her or nodded to her appreciatively. Eleanor chastised them with nonobservance. Let me seem full of myself, she thought. It was, after all, better than overhastily messing about with someone who normally used to backbite her from behind.

Eleanor didn't have to wait long for Preena. As usual, she was en route in her girls' company.

"Come along," she said without even greeting the young rat. She opened the door to the lunchroom. Eleanor was confused. But before she could speculate any further, Hannah's and Celeste's hands already pushed her inside and to the bare wall behind the door. But they didn't let go. A queasy feeling built up in Eleanor. She ought to have known better: she would never get anywhere with her biggest rival.

"What's the big idea?" Preena hissed and approached Eleanor. She could smell the other girl's breath, which smelled of bubblegum. "You walk about in an airy manner and think you can make eyes at my boyfriend, huh?"

The rat girl suffered a snub. She hadn't done anything incorrect at all, much less meaning mischief. But apparently she had made Preena go jealous. That had been her intention, but Eleanor had underestimated the dimension of it. Preena was smaller than her, but capable of a beastliness that was beyond competition. Furthermore, she possessed a gigantic ego and her henchwomen. Thus, the rat girl was pretty inferior.

"I warn you!" Preena squinted her eyes to slits. Eleanor gulped and looked around, seeking help. Her head was instantly turned over by Hannah, so that she was forced to look at the little pill in front of her.

"What are you up to?" she snarled. Eleanor didn't answer. A big mistake. Preena's hand was so fast that the rat girl didn't see it coming. Not until she felt the stabbing pain on her cheek did she realize that she had just been hit.

"Bitch!" Preena yelled, ready to strike another blow. This time she clenched her little fist and trained it on the petite girl's abdomen. Eleanor closed her eyes and clenched her teeth providently. But the blow didn't hit her. Instead, she heard Preena's voice curse at someone, "LET GO! I ain't done with her yet!"

Eleanor carefully peeped through her squinted eyes and didn't believe what she saw. Preena was in a headlock and kicked about in a blind fury. She was held back by Anthony, Eleanor's crush. Now the rat girl was all baffled.

"YOU TWO!" he barked at Hannah and Celeste. The girls released Eleanor's wrists and, as if Anthony was aiming at them with a gun, lifted their own hands as quick as a flash. His head jerked towards the door. This insinuated Preena's friends to leg it.

"And now I have a bone to pick with _you_." He bent down towards the raging girl in his arms.

"If I ever catch you or your dumb friends threatening Eleanor again, I'll knock the stuffing out of you!" His last words were a deep snarl, which made Preena tremble in her boots. He let her go and she smoothed out her clothes.

"See you." She threw a last glance at Eleanor that was full of hatred and hurried to split from Anthony's sphere of influence.

"Are you OK?" He had stepped up to Eleanor and supported her. She was shaking like a leaf.

"I'm alright," she mumbled. Her head was aching and her wrists felt numb.

"You were lucky that I was around," he said.

"Yes," the rat girl answered truthfully. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." Anthony smiled. Eleanor hadn't looked at him properly in ages. He was a canine of tall, well-built stature. Despite his age of 18 years, his face was very boyish, but his disheveled brown hair and his impish mimic bestowed a waggish and adult touch upon him. And although he was normally one of those who mocked her – he had never actively taken part in the spoofs that were aimed at her. It had possibly been this fact that had made Eleanor fall for him back then. And she couldn't deny that she still deemed him appealing.

"Say," he began, "Do you feel like coming to my party on Saturday?"

Eleanor's jaw dropped. "Me?" she asked, taken aback. "But ... but I don't fit in to you guys. And moreover, Preena and her friends will certainly be there as well ... "

"Don't worry about them. They'll officially be disinvited later. But I'd love to see _you_ this weekend," Anthony added. He smirked – and Eleanor succumbed to his charms.

"I'd love to come," she sighed.

"Great! 9 pm – you know where I live?"

"Uh ... y-yes, of course ... ," she stammered. That was a lie, but she didn't want to stand there with egg on her face. His address would be easy to find out.

"Well, Eleanor. I'll see you then." He guided her out before he bade farewell to her with a kiss on her hand. A cocoon with thousands of butterflies exploded in the rat girl's stomach.

This weekend, her grandmother's dress would be showcased for the very first time.


	9. Chapter 9

Elmo's efforts to get close to Eleanor fizzled. Each time he met her in the corridor and opened his mouth to put forth something apologetic, she would just avert her gaze from him, offended. Even more: he had the feeling that she broke away from him. Elmo knew that his remark about Eleanor's new look hadn't been very considerate, but by no stretch of the imagination did he understand why she vehemently refused to let him get close to her. She just _had_ to recognize that he was sorry and – what was even more important – that his demeanor was a real gift for his tantalizers.

"Don't bother coming on to her!" would then sound from somewhere. Hence, Elmo was not only the showcase geek, but also a primitive limpet. At least it seemed to him like that, and he repeatedly asked himself why he kept on trying to talk to Eleanor at all.

What unsettled him the most, however, was the fact that many a time she could be seen in the presence of people who would never have paid attention to her in past times. They gathered around her as if she was a great attraction, a rare animal in a zoo. She would probably be as uninteresting as before in a couple of weeks, but the attention she currently drew to herself seemed to make her feel superior, even – or rather: exceptionally - to Elmo.

Each time she passed him with one of the girls – without deigning to look at him, of course – Elmo heard them talk about Anthony Mitchell's party. What on earth did she want there? And how had she received an invitation? Did this dumb guy have his eyes on her? Elmo was well versed in the thinking of guys like Anthony. After all, he dealt with them day after day! A halfway attractive being had barely run into them and they already wanted to take it by storm, to have it all for themselves. In order to display it like a trophy. And Eleanor was attractive enough to make Anthony prick up his ears. Elmo even believed having seen him throwing longing glances at her several times.

He was seriously worried about his only friend. Not only because she ran the risk of falling into the clutches of an empty-headed beef-cake, no: Elmo was particularly afraid that she could gradually be tampered with under Anthony's or any of the others' influence.

But how was he supposed to protect her? Should he come to the party clandestinely, entrench himself somewhere and keep track of the incidents? - No, apart from the fact that it was impossible not to be seen on the way there (even in disguise): how was_ he_ supposed to intervene if something should happen to Eleanor? He, the lanky guy with the confidence of a fly that was in its death struggle with a spider. They would anatomize him.

Sometimes, when his imagination overwhelmed him, Elmo pictured what it would be like to have super powers. But that was a foolish, childish idea – and impossible to boot.

It was useless. He just couldn't think of an opportunity. And to be frank: it was an intervention in Eleanor's privacy. It was nothing to him what she did on the weekend and with whom she met. He wasn't her father after all. Elmo could only hope that she kept her sanity and did the right thing.

--

When Eleanor awoke on Saturday morning, she still felt a comforting prickle in her stomach. She was terribly excited, not only because of Anthony, but also because of the many other people who would be there and who would be admiring her in her dress.

She knew that she had to be attentive in spite of everything. From what she had heard, the gloves were always taken off at such parties – particularly as far as the consumption of alcohol and the consequences were concerned. And even if Preena and her friends didn't pose a threat any more (Eleanor had witnessed that Anthony had "kindly" communicated to them that they had disinvited themselves) – the rat girl would always have to keep her eyes peeled. But she was confident that she could cope with the challenge.

At breakfast, she casually asked her father whether he could take her to the party in the evening. She was a little angry with herself that she hadn't coughed up the issue earlier, because her father looked quite puzzled.

"What do you want there?" he inquired and took a quite big sip from his tea cup. Her daughter's motive also didn't leave Eleanor's mother untouched, who had been surprisingly calm and – thank God – stone-cold sober in the aftermath of the marriage counseling.

„Exactly, missy! What do you want at such a party?" She skeptically knit her brows. Eleanor believed to see a trace of craving in her mother's eyes that screamed, "Take me along!"

"I'm invited, that's it," the rat girl answered her parents' questions and shrugged as though it was usual that she went out on the weekend. Her father frowned and murmured, "I don't know. You're rather a domestic soul."

"Dad!" Eleanor called out a little too loud. She instantly cowered. "I mean," she began, "why shouldn't I go? You can have some peace and quiet for an evening, then."

"Pumpkin, that's hokey!" her father replied and shook his head. "Don't be silly! We enjoy being with you and -"

"I know, Dad," Eleanor cut him short, "but don't you think that I should try out something new?"

Her father kept silent. Eleanor's mother, however, stared at him expectantly over the seam of her coffee cup. Apparently, she didn't want to chip in.

"Very well then," he finally gave in. "But behave yourself, OK?"

"Yes, of course!" Eleanor's heart leaped for joy. She threw a glimpse at her mother who kept on stirring her coffee indifferently. Let her envy her daughter. She had seemed quite perturbed about her child's transformation anyway – unlike her husband. He had reacted quite relaxedly and had told his daughter how pretty she was. He had accepted it. Eleanor's mother, however, had only thrown disfavoring glances at her. She couldn't bear taking a back seat. The rat girl had taken in her mother's behavior with satisfaction. It had rendered her additional recognition. She slowly but surely felt at ease with her new self.

--

After the seemingly difficult matter to ask her father for taking her to the party had turned out to be a harmless voidness, Eleanor, filled with anticipation, was looking forward to the evening. Already in the late afternoon did she entrench herself in the bathroom and allowed herself ample relaxation in the bathtub. The hot water gently caressed her body and washed all the sorrows of the past days overboard. Even Elmo. Let him carry on suppressing the truth! If he couldn't accept Eleanor the way she was, then he should leave her alone.

"He needs to grow up first," the rat girl said to herself and blew the foam in front of her nose aside. This time, nothing gnawed at her conscience for thinking about him in an insulting way.

When she stepped out of the bathtub, her dress already lay on the windowsill, neatly folded. Eleanor toweled herself off carefully, wrapped the towel around her body and set about rubbing down her hair with another one. Then she reached for the styling mousse on the shelf and sprayed a big blob onto her hand. She kneaded the sticky mass into her kinks and adjusted some curlers.

Eleanor spent the time of waiting with applying make-up. She applied mascara to her eyelashes and was happy about the fact that she had finally got the hang of it (in the beginning, she had constantly stabbed her eyes). After that, she went about fulfilling the equally difficult task to apply kohl. But even that worked out uneventfully. Eleanor cheered inwardly. It would be a great result and thus a just as successful evening!

"Which eyeshadow should I take?" she mumbled. During her shopping expedition, she had spent all her loose money on a color palette that would surely last for the rest of her life. She decided in favor of a natural shade that was only slightly lighter than her fur tone. Eleanor stepped back and examined her work. The result looked really good. Lastly, she pursed her lips and daubed them with a pink lip gloss, which she had fallen for. She examined herself once more – yes, that would do.

Now it was time to attend to her hair. It slightly twinged when the rat girl loosened the curlers. She feverishly tried not to bite her lips. After that, Eleanor carefully combed out her kinks. She ran her hands through her hair and tried to bring her kinks into a playful, but not sleazy form. She alternately pushed some strands of hair in front of her face and brushed them away again. When she had finally reached a satisfying result, she grabbed the hairspray can and spayed her hair-do with it. She asked Mother Nature's forgiveness for disobliging the environment, also for the fact that she would be taken to the party by car. But Mother Nature would hopefully turn a blind eye to it. Because: how was the rat girl supposed to ride a bike with a dress on? Eleanor adjusted her hair once more and sprayed on a little more. She coughed; that stuff was diabolic.

After having dressed up, the great moment came. Eleanor took the dress and unfolded it with care. She held it in front of herself and excitedly wondered what the final result would look like. So she dropped the towel, donned the dress and tied it up. When Eleanor turned to the mirror, she held her breath.

"Wow ...," she whispered. She was overwhelmed. The dress fit like a glove. She put on the black pumps and adjusted her hair one last time. Eleanor couldn't refrain a sound of elation, which turned into a suppressed squeal due to her excitement. As a finishing touch, she sprayed herself with a perfume that unobtrusively smelled of vanilla. A last look in the mirror and Eleanor was ready to show the world what the ugly duckling was capable of.

--

"Dad!" The rat girl looked at the watch. Nearly 9 pm, how time flew! She scurried down the stairs and grinded to a halt inelegantly. Her father stepped out of the living room and stood rooted to the ground. He stared at his daughter, his mouth and eyes wide open. He took her by the hand and spun her around.

"You look great," he said. Eleanor smiled deeply touched. She could see the tip of her mother's nose in the background, how she hid behind the ajar living room door. If possible, Eleanor's smile widened even more. Her father opened the door for her and bowed like a butler. The rat girl giggled, given so much charming fuss. But she liked it.

--

Anthony's house was only a few blocks away from her own, but it was safer to be taken there – and it looked a whole lot better. Eleanor leaned over to her father and kissed him on the cheek.

"Thank you, _Pappa_! I'll call you then," she said and was about to open the door when her father held her by the shoulder. All of a sudden, he looked scowling.

"Say," he began, "aren't you wearing a bra?"

Eleanor winced barely noticeable. It was true, but she didn't want to alienate him. So she disengaged from him and answered with a placatory smile, "I_ am_ wearing a bra, don't worry! I love you!"

With these words, she opened the door and stepped outside. She couldn't hear her father muttering, "Take care, pumpkin ..."


	10. Chapter 10

_Author's Note: One month without an update! I'm so sorry, but university started again and I just didn't feel like translating a single word. I hope I didn't make too many mistakes (it's almost half past one in the morning and I wanted to get this done before I go to bed) and that I won't have to put you off again. Enjoy!_

_--_

The Mitchells were a family of wealthy bankers, and their house made that clear. It was huge and surrounded by an overdimensioned garden in front of and behind the rambling building, which loud music leaked from.

Eleanor sidestepped the many parking cars, which belonged to Anthony's buddies. The vehicles outclassed each other in elegance and decadence. Luckily no one had seen her arrive in her Dad's old Capri.

The neatly paved gravel walk that approached the house was edged with aesthetically trimmed plants, from which the dim flare of small party lights gleamed. Everything looked very inviting.

Eleanor scaled the stone steps up to the front door, examining the pretty wrought-iron handrail, and concentrically positioned herself in front of the door. She adjusted her hair and rang the bell. It took some seconds before the door was opened.

"Hi, Eleanor! I'm pleased to see you!" There stood Anthony with a soft smile on his lips, his white shirt sloppily pulled out of his jeans. Before she could answer he went on, "Come in!"

He opened the door a little more so she could enter. Eleanor was overwhelmed by the extravagance that surrounded her. Everything was polished to a high finish: she was walking on a white marmoreal floor, an opulent chandelier hung from the ceiling and the furniture was made of finest wood. A cantilevered staircase led from the huge entrance hall, whose walls were covered with all kinds of paintings, to the upper floors.

A couple, that was lingering in the foyer as well, glanced upstairs curiously. When they put their feet on the lowermost step, Anthony's imperious voice filled the room, "Hey, drop it, will you? Upstairs is a no-no!"

They backed off the staircase, as if the carpet had tried to bite them. With an apologetic grin towards Anthony and a hissed "I told you so!" from the girl they disappeared into the living room. Anthony shook his head.

"They think they can have sex everywhere, even in the john," he sighed. Eleanor made herself smile in agreement. His slanguage needed getting used to. Besides, she was a little shocked given the fact that apparently several guests had already tried to make love in the other rooms.

"You look drop-dead gorgeous," Anthony remarked and startled Eleanor out of her thoughts.

"Thank you," she aspirated and blushed. She let him lead her to the living room. The music came from here, and most of the guests were standing and sitting here. They gabbed loudly to drown out the music, they screeched and laughed. It was a dissonant mix of voices. The boys and girls who didn't speak lay on the couches, cuddling, or they replaced the spoken conversation by kisses. Eleanor could spot even more people outside on the patio. Most of them were smoking and some of the girls let themselves be thrown into the pool without resistance.

"Sparkling wine?" Anthony asked. He held a tray that was brimming with elegant champagne cups.

"No, thanks," she replied. "Can I have a coke instead?"

"Sure!" he nodded, slightly disappointed. "Wait, I'll get you some."

Eleanor had the chance to analyze the overall situation a little closer. His question regarding the drink had called her attention to the fact that nearly everybody held a glass with the sparkling liquid. And those who didn't drink from glasses feasted on bottles which, Eleanor supposed, contained beer. She was outraged and disappointed at the same time. She hadn't expected the guests sitting around quietly, but the unrestrained and carefree consumption of alcohol deranged her immensely. At least the friskiness kept within a limit so that she didn't have to worry about being trampled down by an uncontrollably dancing pack of people.

Anthony turned up at her side again, holding a large glass filled with coke.

"Do you promise to clink glasses with me at midnight?" he asked and looked at her expectantly. If there was something like the notorious look with puppy dog eyes, he had it down pat. But Eleanor stood firm. She shook her head.

"Oh, come on!" Anthony hustled her. "One little sip won't hurt."

"We'll see," she said. It was an answer without obligation that seemed to satisfy him. He offered her a seat on one of the couches and beamed at her while she sat down. Did he feel uncertain in her presence?

Some silent minutes followed in which both of them looked everywhere, but avoided looking in the other's face. Reason enough for the annoying little voice in Eleanor's head to pipe up again.

"_I beg your pardon?"_ she barked at her. _"He's sitting next to you, you're alone. Do something!"_

"Um ... ," her actual voice started, "... your house is beautiful." She sheepishly took a sip. What a stereotype statement!

"Yup," Anthony agreed and outstretched his long arms. When he put them down again, one of his hands stayed on Eleanor's shoulder. The touch made her shiver.

"C-can you show me the garden?" she spluttered. She really needed some fresh air, but also time to deal with his excessive affection. It hadn't escaped her that they were constantly being observed by the others. Most likely, there was also whispering again. But there was something positive about Anthony's permanent presence: no one would approach Eleanor in bad faith.

--

The garden behind the house was even more gorgeous than the front garden. The flowerbeds were planted with huge rosebushes, which were in full bloom, and other adorable flowers. In between stood baroque lanterns which reminded her of the typical street lighting in Paris. It was like a fairy tale, so surreal. To make sure that she wasn't dreaming Eleanor touched one of the many blossoms. It was as soft as silk and exuded an odor which she would never have expected from such a delicate creation of nature.

"You like it?" Anthony stood close to her and looked over her shoulder. They kept aloof from the screaming guests near the house who went on throwing each other into the pool.

"Yes, I like it a lot," she responded softly. "It's wonderful here."

"Glad to hear that."

Eleanor couldn't couch the atmosphere. Something romantic was in the air, they were alone, far away from the glances of the others, and yet it was an oppressive situation. She didn't know what to do. But wasn't waiting the best thing to do right now? Anthony seemed to think the same. He looked at the bottle in his hand and noticed that it was empty.

"Your glass is empty, too," he said and took it from the rat girl. "I'll refill our drinks. Meanwhile, you can go on looking around."

With a heartrending smile he turned around and trotted towards the house in a lordly stride. Eleanor noticed that he was slightly staggering. He was obviously squiffy and she hoped that he wouldn't miss the beginning of his birthday.

As recommended, she went on strolling through the breathtaking garden and let the gently lit blaze of color affect her. She had just turned to an interesting composition of chrysanthemums when she heard a rustling in the hedgerow in front of her. In anticipation of a straying cat Eleanor bent forward to explore the source of the sound. But instead of a cat three familiar figures sallied out of the bushes: Preena, Celeste and Hannah.

Eleanor shrieked and turned on her heels to take flight, but the girls were faster. Before she realized what was happening, Hannah grabbed her arms while Celeste grasped her feet and thus they pulled her to the ground.

"HEL-!" Eleanor cried out, but Preena put her hand on her mouth as quick as a flash. The young rat tried to bite her enemy's fingers, but her free hand hit her face so hard that she lost courage.

"You little bitch are having a ball at the party that was intended to be _our_ stage, huh?"

Preena's voice had adopted a menacing tone. Full of hate, she looked down at the scared girl.

"My gorge is rising when I look at you! You're prancing around as if you were the most adorable creature this world has ever seen. Are those natural or did you stuff your cleavage?"

Without letting Eleanor answer Preena stretched out her short fingers and put her on the bosom of her captive. She squeezed, with such a force that the rat girl moaned with pain. She kicked out, wanted to break free from Celeste's grasp, but she didn't succeed. She felt despair rising within herself. Where was Anthony?

"If we aren't allowed to come to the party, then we'll have our own one. And guess who will be our special guest!" Preena piped. What on earth was she up to?

"Come on, come with us! - Oh, silly me!" She threw a pitiful glance at Eleanor and added, "Our Majesty needs her sedan!"

She nodded to her friends and they lifted the defenseless rat in order to carry her towards the hedgerow. Eleanor prayed that help would finally come.

"What would our Majesty like to do at her party? Maybe sup some sparkling whine while you and the royal household watch your subjects make a fool of themselves?" Preena spit out.

"Or would you rather like to be ogled by a genial group of younglings?" Hannah proposed and chuckled nervously.

"Or what about -" Celeste didn't go on, for an enormous shadow was cast over the girls and a voice sounded that curdled their blood - including Eleanor's.

"Where are you girls going?"

She looked up and relief came: it was Anthony. Thank God, she thought. He put down his beer bottle and the glass and slowly walked over to the strange kidnapping scene. Eleanor was dropped ruggedly. She gratefully looked up to her rescuer, but he was concentrating on Preena and her friends. He was still staggering a little, and his voice was remarkably loud when he snapped at the girls, "What are you doing at my premises?! Haven't I told you _not_ to come here?!?"

The three stuttered incoherent syllables and pointed at each other.

"SHUT UP!" Anthony screamed. "This is my last warning! If I ever catch you menacing Eleanor again, I'll tie you into knots!! And now get your fucking asses outta my garden!!!"

He reached for his beer bottle and aimed at the girls. They started screeching uncontrollably, but couldn't agree on whether to make their exit through the hedgerow or the garden. Apparently they were slow off the mark, for Anthony hauled off to strike and threw his bottle towards the hysterical girls.

"FUCK OFF!!!" he bellowed. Preena understood this order, for she started running and dragged her friends with her as quickly as she could.

Anthony took a deep breath when he, with a bright red face, turned to Eleanor. She had eyed the scene, stunned, and still couldn't say a word, although danger had been averted. The shock was too heavy.

"From Monday on, you'll need a bodyguard in school," Anthony said and looked complacently at the speechless girl next to him. He was obviously proud of his achievement, but Eleanor was still not able to react. Her feelings ran riot. She should be thankful, hug him, maybe even kiss him passionately to confirm him in his hero position, but it didn't feel right. She felt paralyzed, seeing the aggressiveness that Anthony exhibited when he was drunk. Did he always react like that when he got angry?

"Everything OK?" he inquired when he saw her ashen face. Eleanor shook her head truthfully. She felt very queasy. Not only because of the sudden appearance of Preena and her friends, but also because of Anthony's reaction. He scared her. He was a giant guy after all and could also dish out when he was sober, as Eleanor had experienced in school. She quickly took a big sip from the glass he had refilled. The drink tasted awful at that moment.

"Let's go inside," Anthony said and hiccuped. "That will distract you from what happened."


	11. Chapter 11

Passing the patio, which had emptied in the meantime, they went back into the house, and in doing so Eleanor clearly noticed her crush shuffling. It was a lot more crowded inside now; many more people must have arrived. What time was it?

She dropped on a vacant seat and put her hand to her forehead. She felt dizzy. All the events of the evening had been too much for her, first and foremost Anthony's unpredictable behavior. Next to her, much to her surprise, sat Drake Mallard, who seemed even more lost among all the cool and newly rich people than herself.

"What are _you_ doing here?" she asked straightforwardly. Hold it – what had gotten into her that she talked to people like this? In the past, it had always been _her_ who had been out of place at the "hip" events.

"Same as you, I guess," he responded curtly. He sucked on the pink straw in his glass and looked at the rat girl meaningfully.

"And what's that supposed to be?" she wanted to know. She didn't understand what he meant.

"I'm checking out the situation."

"I see," she retorted. And an idea struck her, "Are you sure you don't mean 'finding out what kind of profitable information I can pick up and dispose of'?"

Drake looked hurt. He opened his mouth to respond to that, but quickly closed it again and rose from his seat instead, shaking his head, not without throwing an uncomprehending look at Eleanor. What had she done wrong? She looked at her glass as if the turbid brown soda could answer her question.

Those in front of the record player suddenly freaked out to the tunes of The Clash. The squiffy crowd started the wild free dance the rat girl had feared. They pogoed like mad and chanted the text. She knew that Anthony fancied this band, therefore she had considered buying him a record. But he had told her previously that he didn't expect a present from her. Her mere presence would be present enough, he had said. This statement had flattered Eleanor so much that she had abandoned all doubts about his interest in her. But as she was sitting amidst the completely freaked out crowd, hearing the sound of a vase smashing on the floor from afar, her feelings for Anthony suddenly seemed out of place. The feeling of being abused as a trophy inevitably welled up inside her.

It was about time to call her father. Eleanor would record this part of her experiment as unsuccessful, seeing that hardly anybody had talked to her and since she had felt rather bad in Anthony's company. Apropos bad: she had a horrible rumbling sensation in her stomach. Not surprising: she hadn't eaten anything since lunch and had only drunk oodles of that bitter-sweet lemonade that claimed to call itself "coke".

When Eleanor rose in order to go searching for the phone, she had to watch out to avoid toppling over. The floor in front of her didn't straighten. She went just about sitting down again when she was dragged away from the couch and towards the booming music. Anthony had grabbed her and pushed her against his chest with his free hand. He held a bottle in the other one. How many beers had he already had?

"That's ma favorite song!" he shouted. "We gotta savor that!" And then he started to spin the poor rat girl around. That didn't do her stomach good, it rebelled.

"Stop it!!" she begged, but Anthony didn't hear her. He was much too occupied with striking the right notes. She tried to slip away, but his grip around her waist was as firm as a c-clamp. Eleanor fought back the recurrent nausea in her stomach until the song was over.

"Anthony," she tried once more, "I don't feel well, please release me!"

"Oh, I'm sorry," he babbled. He was fully drunk by now. The rat girl detached herself from him and tottered out of the living room, dazed by the loud music and the smells of alcohol that covered the room like a smother. In the entrance hall, some girls from her French class sat on the floor and tickled Drake Mallard.

"Are you feelin' queasy, Drakey? If you gotta puke, then puke!" they laughed. Eleanor wasn't capable of thinking to what extent this was supposed to help the struggling duck boy to dispose of his stomach contents. She was lacking way too much concentration. Where the heck was the phone?

"Yo Eleanor, it is time! Come back inside!" Anthony put his hands on her shoulder and turned her around. His eyes focussed on a spot around her hairline.

"What? Anthony, I wanna go home. I'm feeling sick to my stomach," the rat girl objected.

"It's almost midnight! Ya don't wanna miss the big moment, do ya?"

Honestly, she couldn't care less about the party by now. But in her present situation she was much too weak to resist Anthony's physical strength. So she let him drag her back to the living room. All the guests had gathered in a circle. She didn't know how many they were, and Eleanor neither could count them nor did she want to. She stopped in the front row and watched the canine stride to the middle. His friends jeered, all of them holding champagne cups. Hardly anybody was able to keep upright.

"30 seconds left, folks!" Daniel, Anthony's best friend, announced. Eleanor was given a glass with sparkling wine as well. She looked at it, lost in thoughts.

"10! ... 9! ... 8! ... ," everybody counted down. The seconds seemed endless.

" ...2! ... 1! ... 0!" The unbearable screaming that set in put the rat girl over the edge. Something seemed to explode inside her head. It hurt like hell. When the content of a champagne bottle was spilled on her hair to boot, her mood had reached the dead spot. She was on the verge of crying out in rage and calling the whole lot a brainless, sickening mob, but she contained herself. The ring of people around Anthony, who merrily sucked on the champagne bottle, disbanded. Whether she liked it or not: Eleanor had to give it a last try in order to find out the location of the phone. Thus she approached him and tapped him on the shoulder. He turned around, and when his eyes had (more or less) taken in her image, he wrapped his arm around her shoulder and chimed in, "Eleanor! Good to have you here!"

"Yes ... happy birthday ... ," she mumbled. "Listen, I -"

"Thank you, thank you, you're such a sweetheart!" he called out. No more of that! Mustering all her strength, she pushed his arm away and looked at him sternly. His face became more and more blurred.

"Please show me the phone. I wanna go!" she said, as resolutely as her shaky voice let her.

"Oooh, why? The fun hasn't started yet!" he argued.

"I'm sorry, I feel tired out!" Why did she explain herself at all?

"If ya are tired, ya can take a nap upstairs an' go on partyin' with us later."

"No, Anthony ..." Please, Lord, make the spinning stop ...

"Eleanor ..."

"I said no!"

He sighed deeply and whispered, "Alright, if ya havta ..." The canine took her by the hand and dragged her behind. They walked towards the staircase. Ascending the stairs turned out to be a hard task for Eleanor. She could hardly estimate where to put her foot. So Anthony quickly lifted her and carried her upstairs. From the corner of her eye the rat girl believed to spot Daniel, who lifted both thumbs.

Anthony pushed open a door and laid the exhausted girl down on a bed. It was, most likely, his room. She sat up, fighting back the urge to throw up, and waited for him to lend her the phone. But he took his time. He first locked the door, then he tampered with his writing desk. She heard a jingling noise. Before she could wonder about the source and the causer of the noise, Anthony had sat down on the edge of the bed and stared at her with misty eyes.

"Would you please give me the phone?" Eleanor asked expectantly. Her voice trembled. She had a misgiving, it didn't look like he wanted to let her call her father. Anthony's gaze, which had suddenly become fixed, drifted along her body.

"D' ya know how hot y'are?" He took her hand and kissed her ice cold fingers. Eleanor withdrew her hand and backed off, but he crawled after her until she was leaning against the bed-head.

"Say, where does your last name come from? Jooooohaaannnnnnnssssooonnnnnn ..." He stretched every syllable so extremely that his disgusting breath struck her. She was about to answer that he didn't really care at all, when Anthony suddenly grabbed her shoulders and drew her nearer. The next thing Eleanor felt were his lips which pressed against hers. She was so overwhelmed that she forgot to fight him back. She let it happen, even closed her eyes. It was her very first kiss, but she had pictured it much softer. Anthony kissed her demandingly and sucked on her lips intensely. There was nothing passionate, nothing affectionate to it, and when his tongue tried to dip in her mouth, Eleanor started to push him away again. He, however, seemed to misunderstand this as pleading for more, since he wrapped his arm around her hip and fondled along her spine, while the other hand was crawling up Eleanor's thigh. She struggled and was finally able to release from his grip.

"What do you think you're doing?!" she panted, short of breath. She stared at him and then looked down on the floor. A rum bottle had rolled in her field of vision. And suddenly the scales fell from her eyes. That was the reason why her coke had had such a strange aftertaste, that was the reason why she hadn't been able to walk and think straight for some time: Anthony had added alcohol to her beverage to make her compliant. The realization of this and the anger at her naivety acted like a sponge, which removed the dazing haze that blurred her mind.

"Ya wanna know what I think I'm doin'?" Anthony repeated her question. "This is gonna be your birthday present for me."

Eleanor's eyes widened and her jaw dropped. He had planned it from the first. She shook her head in disbelief, close to tears, and whispered, "Why?"

He didn't seem to perceive what her question was aimed at, for he only answered, "Cuz you turn me on like hell." With these words, his hand crawled up her body again and approached her bosom, while the other searched for the tie in her neck. He yanked quickly, loosening the knot. Eleanor cried out in horror and could barely avoid being bared by the falling down straps. Without thinking much, she gathered her strength and hit his face with full force. Anthony's head made a creaky noise. She, however, took advantage of his moment of shock, slipped off the bed and into her pumps, which had dropped from her feet during her escape attempts.

"ARE YOU NUTS?!!" Anthony barked when he recognized what she had done. His face spoke volumes. Apparently, nobody had snubbed him like that before. His face was distorted with rage and a broad red mark was visible where she had hit him.

"I should ask _you_!" Eleanor was in a fury herself. "I trusted you! I thought you were not like the other idiots! But I was wrong!!" With tears in her eyes, she knotted the straps of her dress again unlocked the door quickly. But Anthony held her back.

"Where are ya goin'? We ain't done yet!" he snarled.

"Oh, we are done! Let go off me!!" She pushed his hand away.

"I thought you wanted to call your _Daddy_ ... ," he scoffed. Again, he reacted faster than expected: he put his hand on her throat and choked her. She gasped for air when he tried to push her back inside.

"You'll see what it means to refuse one of ma wishes," the canine hissed. Eleanor kicked out in panic. If she couldn't detach herself from him, he would rape her. _Do something! _her inner voice commanded.

She concentrated on her feet, struck out and kicked at the spot between his legs with her heel. It worked: Anthony let out a piercing shriek, writhed and sank to his knees.

"You ... dirty ... lil' –" he spat, barely opening his lips.

"Don't you dare to curse at me!" Eleanor countered, still fighting back her tears. He grabbed for her feet, but she dodged his hands and set about running. She stumbled down the staircase as quickly as possible, tore open the door and flounced out of the house into the cold night air. Eleanor believed hearing Anthony ranting behind her, and when she turned around, she saw him running after her. She swore, he would get her. Thus she quickly slipped off her shoes, took them and sprinted as fast as she could.

"STOP!" Anthony's voice echoed down the street. But Eleanor didn't dare to look back. She kept on running, ran for her life. The tears blurred her sight, thus she couldn't sidestep the pebbles and twigs that cut into her soles. But she didn't care. All she wanted was getting home as quickly as possible.


	12. Chapter 12

Eleanor slackened her sprint after a few blocks and turned around tentatively. Anthony didn't follow her anymore, but she went on running. She had a terrible stitch and breathed in fits and starts, but the fear pushed her on.

She reached her street after another few minutes, and since she imagined herself safe Eleanor stopped. She firmed herself up on her twitching knees and panted for air. She should have known, already when she had taken the first sip from her coke. How could she have been so stupid to believe that Anthony was into her? Feelings didn't matter to him. He was just as scheming, showed just as much craving for recognition like most of the other guys in her grade. It had all been part of a perfidious plan, a trap that the rat girl had naively fallen into. It gave her heart a twinge. Reliance was a precious feature, but it was often being exploited shamelessly to hurt people.

Eleanor wiped away her tears and smeared her make up in doing so. She exhaustedly dragged herself up the street, up to her house. Her father was supposably worried sick already, and when he saw that she had returned on her own, he would probably give her a tongue-lashing to boot – no matter how tearful she was.

The ground floor rooms were all lit. Eleanor stood in front of the door, hesitating. Since she had forgotten her keys, she had to ring the doorbell. Before she could do so, the door sprang open and, just like she had expected, a loud voice resounded. But it didn't belong to her father – it was her mother's voice.

"How dare you?!?" she blustered. "You've been stringin' me along for days and weeks on end – what next?!"

It happened quickly. Eleanor's mother, who had blared her accusations towards the kitchen, turned to her daughter, slapped her and hustled her to the kitchen, where her pale father was sitting huddled on a chair. Before she knew what was happening, they both had to duck down. A plate was thrown at them, barely missing Eleanor and her father. It banged against the window sill and burst loudly. There were pieces of glass underneath the kitchen table – a wine bottle, judging from the color. Great, a relapse.

"Dad, what ... ?" she began, but her father just shook his head and covered his ears, as if he hoped to disappear thereby. Eleanor bit her bottom lip and rose from the floor. Her mother had seized more plates, but before she could throw them at her daughter or her husband, the rat girl had approached her and took hold of her wrists.

"MOM!" she yelled furiously. "What on earth is going on?!!" She winced at the loudness of her voice, and her mother reacted alike: she momentarily looked taken aback.

"Your father's jobless, Eleanor!" she replied spitefully, almost a little triumphantly – as if she had finally found a reason to break up with him. Since she didn't perceive astonishment or surprise in her daughter's face, she scrunched up her eyes and asked in an icy voice, "Since when do you know?"

"Long enough. I hope you were at least honest enough to tell him your secret as well!" Eleanor looked at her mother, then at her father, who – still pale-faced – had left his hiding place.

"W-what are you talking about?" he stammered. It was a tragedy. Did love really make him that blind or was he just disavowing it? Eleanor loved her father and did everything not to disappoint or hurt him, but it just couldn't go on like this. How long did this shattered family want to remain living in a lie? So Eleanor said, "She's cheating on you."

"What?" her father gasped. If at all possible, he turned yet paler. He resembled a ghost.

"Pshaw, you fool didn't seriously believe that I still care about you? All you've been attached to was your work! Your work and your uptight little daughter!" It didn't surprise Eleanor that her mother reacted like this – and least of all that she called her "his" daughter. Eleanor's father drooped his eyelids and looked at the floor sheepishly, like a scolded child.

"Why did you stay?" he asked so quietly that his words were hard to understand.

"Why? You are seriously asking yourself _why_?" Now it was Eleanor who lost her poise. "She wanted your money! That was all she needed! Your money and the freedom to do whatever she wanted!"

Her father listened, dumbfounded. He put his head in his hands – and laughed. He wasn't laughing loudly, it was rather a suppressed snicker. When he lifted his head again, he revealed a disbelieving grin.

"You've been ripping me off in all these years ... ," he said to his wife. "And I've been so foolish to trust you. Good that Eleanor knew what was going on."

"Are you finished?" Eleanor's mother inquired. She feigned a yawn and looked at him dismissively. He rose from his chair, walked over to his wife and took her hand. He put her hand in his and examined it dreamily. He then used his other hand to take off her wedding ring and did the same with his.

"We're through," he said and dropped both rings onto the counter top.

Eleanor suddenly felt numb inside. Her father wanted to get divorced. This fact should placate her, but it didn't. Wasn't she supposed to be happy that she'd finally get rid of her atrocious mother?

No, on the contrary. Against her expectations, her father's words tore a deep hole in her heart. Even though she had wished that what they used to call "family" in unmemorable times would break apart: it was hard to believe that the time had come. All the memories she held dear awoke at one fell swoop.

Her first day of school, when both parents had still been proud of their daughter in equal shares. The birthday cakes her mother had baked for her. Her consoling mother, who had comforted her during her first menses. And then: her irritated mother, who wouldn't listen to her child's sorrows. Her uninterested mother, who would talk to her friends on the phone all day long instead of looking after her daughter. Her bitch of a mother, dearly kissing a stranger on the street corner near Eleanor's school. Her jealous mother, who had to watch her daughter turn into a woman. Who regarded her daughter's school achievements with envy. Envy ...

"YOU IDIOT!!" The rat girl was pulled out of her thoughts. Her mother was standing in front of her father, trembling and – were there tears in her eyes? "You ignorant, pigheaded idiot ... ," she said soundlessly.

"Get out of my face," Eleanor's father responded calmly. His facial expression was inscrutable.

"MARTIN! Are you really that stubborn?" She began to sob. "Do you know what you did to _me_ in all these years?" The rat girl believed to know what she meant: she felt neglected. Uncared-for. Mother and daughter experienced quite the same.

"I can do what I want! You don't pay regard to me, you don't respect me! All you're interested in is your work and the inhibited smart aleck you turned _our_ little daughter into!!" More tears rolled down her mother's cheeks. Eleanor was speechless and – somewhat deeply moved. Not because her mother had called her a "inhibited smart aleck", no: it was the fact that her mother was apparently crying because of her. And that she accused her father of having sped up her low self-esteem.

"Why did you never encourage me?" Eleanor blurted out. "Why have you always been so-" She paused. Hold it ... her mother wanted more attention and took revenge by hurting those who were closest to her ...

"Don't act the innocent. You've pulled my leg long enough, Carolyn," Eleanor's father continued. "Once a liar, always a liar." There was still nothing emerging on his face, no emotion at all. No disappointment, no horror, not even anger. It scared the rat girl. "And now leave my house."

"Martin, listen ... " Eleanor's mother gulped.

"Get out ..."

"But-"

"GET OUT!!!"

She fell silent, like a TV that had abruptly been turned off, but didn't move. None of the two women could sense what happened next: Eleanor's father let loose on his spouse, pushed her to the ground and slapped her. Eleanor let out a cry of dismay.

"DO – I – NEED – TO – MAKE – MYSELF - CLEARER?!" her father hollered and stroke his wife blow after blow. She looked like a lifeless doll, hardly making any noise.

"DAD, STOP!" the rat girl cried. She quickly approached the raging man and tried to haul him off from her mother whose nose was already bleeding.

"LET GO OFF ME! SHE DESERVES IT!" he snapped at her. There was no warmth left in his eyes. They were filled with pure hatred. Eleanor let go off him and shied away. It wasn't him who spoke, this man wasn't her father. She stumbled towards the door. She had to get out. Immediately.

"Where are you going?" he croaked. She kept silent and shied away a few more steps, observing him carefully.

"Eleanor ..." Her mother made use of her husband's pause and looked at her. Her face was sprinkled with blood and wet from the tears that kept running down her cheeks. She panted for air and her lips quivered when she whispered, "I'm so sorry ..."

It broke the rat girl's heart. What was she supposed to do?

"Run ..." her mother coughed. No, it wasn't right. She had to help her.

"RUN!" she cawed once more, and Eleanor ran, ran out of the house and into the night. She ran as fast as her sore feet could carry her. She had no destination in mind, all she wanted was to get away. Away from this house that had turned into hell, away from her parents who had turned into demons.


	13. Chapter 13

_Author's Note: I know, another way too long timespan between two updates. The reason is that I didn't feel like translating for quite some time, for the last chapter received hardly any comments. I'm not craving for attention, but see: no feedback means no hint for me if you like what I write and if I need to improve. It seemed to me that many of my readers left me alone. So if you don't like this story any more: tell me! And if you just don't have the time to read or comment: tell me! I am patient, I just don't like being uninformed, you know?_

_This chapter is dedicated to my deviantArt friends SplatterPhoenix, Garlar and CelestialDarkness. You know why._

_----_

There was no one on the street this late, but Eleanor repeatedly tripped over low curbstones and fell once as she missed a root on a grass strip. But she had no time to worry about her wounds and bruises. She sincerely hoped that her mother would manage to escape. Because no matter how much damage she had done to the family: she didn't deserve falling victim to her husband's fit of rage and being abused like that.

Eleanor rushed down the streets without the slightest idea where to go. Her panic reaction hadn't afforded her any opportunity to consider this. But who was there left at all? Beside her parents, there were no other relatives of her living in St. Canard. And even if so: she couldn't go and see them. Telling them the whole story would take too long.

She slowed down her pace and feverishly deliberated what to do. But much as she strained her brains, her thoughts automatically led her to one particular person: Elmo. Even though it was pretty heedless to visit him in the middle of the night – she had to give it a try. She had no alternative and hoped that he would attend to her. So she tried to reconstruct the way to his house in her mind.

She turned right on the next street corner and walked down the dimly lit sidewalk. Even though she was still in her quarter, Eleanor was nonetheless angst-ridden. She had never been out on her own so late at night before. The trees cast eerie shadows and the wind whispered in the branches. The rat girl felt chilly and rubbed her hands, but her teeth chattered anyway – from fear. She looked up. The street sign wasn't familiar at all. Where had she been jogging back then? She looked around, searching for a clue, and spotted the river behind the houses on the opposite side. Hadn't Elmo said that he lived by the river? Eleanor crossed the street in order to follow the stretch of water. She couldn't recall the name of Elmo's street, neither did she know which house he lived in (she hadn't payed attention to that), but she sincerely hoped to find it anyway. Thus she kept on walking down the street, always keeping an eye on the water. But suddenly the street split into two, and so did the river.

"Oh no ... ," Eleanor wailed, close to tears again. What was she supposed to do now?

A loud clang behind her made the girl jump. Her heart beat faster. She was alone and couldn't defend herself in her current condition. Holding her breath, Eleanor scanned her surroundings for the source of the sound in panic. A second, even louder crashing noise could be heard that inevitably made her fold her arms in front of her body protectively, her shoes still in her hands, which – so she thought – must have looked quite idiotically to her attacker.

"Hello?" she asked hesitantly. No reply. Instead of that, something touched her legs. Eleanor shrieked and stumbled a few steps back, waving about with her hands hysterically to smack the pervert who had touched her. But there was nobody in sight, or at least no one who was of the same height. A cat sat on the green strip, watching Eleanor with its yellow eyes. The animal had somehow managed to throw down the top of a garbage can first and then the can itself.

"Alas, it was _you_." The rat girl breathed out in relief and wiped the cold sweat off her forehead. "Why do you scare me like that?" she asked reproachfully. She knew that the animal couldn't answer, and yet it tilted its head and meowed quietly. Eleanor knelt down and offered the cat her hand. It sniffed carefully and then rubbed his head against her hand, purring quietly. Eleanor loved animals. She had always liked to have a pet, but since her mother was allergic, she had always had to do without.

The sound of the purring calmed the rat girl down and she took a closer look at the cat. The fur was gray and tabby, the body slim and it was, judging from the figure, a female.

"Where do you live?" Eleanor asked, and as if the cat had waited for this question, it jumped forward and scurried down the street.

"Hey!" The rat girl called, jumped up and tried to keep up with the small animal. Only now did Eleanor notice how exhausted she was, how much her ankles and feet hurt. She didn't dare to look down at the cuts, pulled herself together instead and followed the cat, which scurried down the sidewalk and then quickly disappeared under a hedgerow. Maybe it had discovered something to eat, she pondered. But the cat didn't reemerge. Eleanor lifted her head in disappointment and examined her surroundings. She hadn't payed attention to where they had gone. Luckily, she could still spot the river on the right-hand side. But maybe Elmo lived along the other creek. But the closer she looked at the houses surrounding her, the more familiar they seemed.

The rat girl slowly started walking again and tried to remember some striking detail. She caught a glimpse of the names on the mailboxes here and there and she also walked up to a few houses. She hoped that no one would see her or even consider her as a burglar.

When she approached an intersection, Eleanor became anxious again. Had she been wrong, had it really been the other street facing the river where she would find Elmo's house? There were only a few houses left in this street – and in one of them, a room on the upper floor was lit. A soft meow sounded next to Eleanor, and when she looked down, she saw the cat sitting next to her.

"Oh, there you are again," she said, but the animal didn't stay at her side, but moved towards the house. As if someone was calling her name, Eleanor followed. When she stopped in front of the house, which was painted in light blue, the cat hopped up the low steps of the patio and sat down on the doormat. Eleanor slowly ascended the steps and looked at the plate next to the doorbell: Sputterspark. Puzzled and happy at the same time, she looked at the cat that had just started to groom itself. The rat girl assumed that it was the cat of the Sputtersparks.

"You led me here," Eleanor whispered. "As if you knew who I'm looking for." She gazed at the cat in amazement for a few moments, then descended from the patio to the lawn and looked up. Elmo's room must face the street and the river if he had seen her jogging by. According to that: was it his room that was lit?

Eleanor would only find it out when she made the person inside notice her. But how was she supposed to do that? She looked around and found pebbles in the flowerbed at her feet. She took some of them and tossed one towards the window. Fortunately it didn't hit the pane, but the shingles. Eleanor cringed given the unexpected loud noise. Hopefully she wouldn't waken the rest of the family to boot. So she took aim at the wood panelling of the oriel this time. The stone hit the wood with a thud. But nothing happened. Maybe it was only a night light and she seriously disturbed someone's sleep. As expected, the ceiling light was switched on and Eleanor froze, staring at the shadow that approached the window. It was opened and a dozy-looking Elmo peered outside. The rat girl immediately felt the tension inside her body slacken.

"Eleanor? What are you doing here?" Elmo rubbed his eyes. He couldn't hide a trace of anger in his voice. But she hadn't expected a friendlier welcome anyway.

"Do you know what time it is?" he hissed indignantly.

"I know. I mean – I don't. I'm really, really sorry, it's just ..." Eleanor hesitated. She bit her bottom lip nervously. Had it been the right decision to come here? Elmo's reaction spoke for itself. True, it had been pretty bold of her to disturb him in the middle of the night. But she felt that if she didn't talk to him, she would go crazy. Apart from that, she didn't know yet where to go _afterwards_. But that didn't matter now, so she pulled herself together and answered, "Too much happened to tell you everything from down here."

Elmo frowned. Then he sighed and whispered, "OK. Get in the garden, I'll open the back door."


	14. Chapter 14

_Author's Note: I'm so sorry for the delay! Please understand, I've been preparing for my upcoming exams since late April and I'm stressed out. I won't promise you to reduce waiting times between two updates any more. All I can do is to ask for your patience._

_And now: enjoy chapter 14!_

--

Eleanor did as she was told. The cat curled up on a patio chair and meowed her goodbye.

The backyard was full of fruit trees, vegetable patches and flowers and definitely worth a closer look, but she didn't want to keep Elmo waiting. The moment she entered the kitchen, with a sheepish "Thank you" on her lips, a welcoming warmth started to embrace her, giving her some very comfy shivers. She looked at the clock. It was quarter to three.

As she took a closer look at the room, she realized the various lamps, which were dangling from the ceiling or sticking out from the walls like strangely shaped mushrooms. Eleanor reckoned that Elmo had set up some of them himself, if not all of them. She immediately felt comfortable in this house. The rat boy cleared his throat to make her remember why she was here. Embarrassed and blushing, Eleanor followed him through the kitchen, the corridor and upstairs. She tried to avoid any noises, since he had insinuated that his parents were asleep. On their way up, the girl detected some more of those interesting lamps and she also noticed a few tools, scattered across the floor like the toys of a child. Elmo had left his mark all across the house, which was obviously tolerated by his parents.

His room resembled a lab. It was as sparsely furnished as Eleanor's, with just as many books on the shelves and very few pieces of furniture, but it was a lot fuller than hers because of the many equipments, which were lying on the floor, the desk and even the bed. Along with light bulbs and sockets, there were numerous home appliances, partly or completely taken apart, some of them reassembled in a different shape.

Eleanor let the chaos sink in and sat down on the floor. She was glad to finally being able to catch her breath. But the worst was still in store for her. Elmo was leaning against the wall, his arms folded, visibly waiting for an explanation. He was still wearing his everyday clothes: a red shirt with a tie, too short jeans and a too long, dark lab coat, as well as worn-out sneakers on his huge feet. His look was so hostile it made her fear him. No surprise – she had disturbed him. Not his sleep, but his work, which was even worse for a scientist. Besides, Eleanor hadn't been that nice to him lately, virtually denying their friendship. So there were enough reasons for him to throw her out again. His willingness to attend to her rather hurt than doing her good.

"Why did you come to see me? What on earth could be _so_ important that you wanna talk about it with me - of all persons?" the rat boy broke the silence. His voice was deep, self-assured. Since Eleanor was in the inferior position, he could easily turn the tables on her. She neither could nor wanted to take it amiss. She had played up and was to pay for it. But his words still hurt.

"I can only repeat that I'm sorry, Elmo," Eleanor whispered and swallowed hard to suppress her tears. "But there's been no alternative for me. You're the only one I can talk to."

Elmo snorted contemptuously. "You said that before. And a few days later, you left me in the lurch. You made me feel like you never knew me."

He was so right. She nodded and listened to him. "Can you even imagine how I felt? Oh, and I even gave you encouragement! You betrayed me to our common foe to make yourself feel better!"

Everything he said was so true. Eleanor began to question her experiment and whether it had brought any desirable results. She had only wanted him to understand why she did it. As if he had read her mind, Elmo said, "I know that you're doing all this stuff just to find out how reactions to a 'geek'" - he formed quotation marks with his fingers – "change once the person turns into a cute, shallow girl. But you lost sight of your actual purpose and identified too much with the other side. You didn't only act shallow, you _became_ shallow!"

Eleanor shivered. He had seen through it, the whole story, right from the beginning. And she had been blinded by the regard the others had seemingly paid her – Anthony in particular. Her sudden popularity, that had never been real, had made the rat girl believe that Elmo had been too blind to discover her motives. She had been terribly wrong and felt ashamed like never before. She had betrayed him to a purpose that wasn't worth a straw.

Eleanor couldn't help it: she buried her head in her hands and started to cry soundlessly. She had lost all those who had ever meant something to her.

"I'm glad I could give you a reality check," Elmo sighed. There was still no hint at compassion in his voice. Judging from the sounds she heard, he rearranged some items on his desk.

"And now say what you wanted to say, so I can go on with my work," he grumbled.

"No," Eleanor sobbed and rose from the floor. Her feet and limbs still hurt like mad, but she told herself to stand straight. "I already gave you so much trouble. You don't deserve being bothered by me any longer." She stepped out of the dark and shuffled towards the door. Before she reached the doorknob, the noise of something splintering on the floor made her freeze. Still traumatized by the incident with the plates in her parents' kitchen, she expected to see shards next to her feet. But there were none. Eleanor turned around and saw a flabbergasted Elmo, his hand frozen in a position that had held a light bulb until just now.

"My God, Eleanor, what happened to you?" he whispered. There was nothing in his voice that could be presumed as disrespect given her clothes. He sounded concerned, appalled. To be frank, Eleanor had no idea what she looked like. But it had to be unreasonable.

"Elmo?" came a sleepy voice from outside, from the corridor. "Are you still up?"

"Oh no." His mother. Elmo hastily approached the door, while Eleanor hid in the dark again. Elmo nodded towards her and opened the door a little.

"Hey Mom! S-sorry for the noise. You know how clumsy I c-can be," he babbled. There fell a deep silence, in which Eleanor feverishly tried not to breathe too loud.

"I thought you were talking to someone ... ," said his mother's high, but calm voice.

"Alas, I often talk to myself when ... things don't work out the way I want them to, you know?" Elmo was a pretty bad liar, and Eleanor kind of appreciated that.

"I see," Mrs. Sputterspark mumbled. She seemed eased. "But don't stay up too long, OK? It's past three in the morning and I don't wanna have to wake you for lunch." She laughed.

"Alright," he chuckled. "Sleep well."

"You too, my whizkid. I'm proud of you." Elmo smiled, closed the door again and turned towards the girl. She was sitting there like a picture of misery, looking sheepish and sorrowful. He knelt down in front of her and examined the wounds on her feet.

"I'm so sorry I nagged at you. What happened?" he asked and started to remove leaves and small twigs from her hair. Eleanor kept silent. His sudden sympathy came totally unexpected. But his apology was soothing.

"I fled," she admitted eventually.

"Fled? What from?" He jumped up, quickly removing the items from his bed. "Sit down. I'll take care of your feet."

She did as she was told and replaced the hard wooden floor with Elmo's mattress. It was so soft that she instantly sank, while he was rummaging around in his closet, looking for a first aid kit. Elmo knelt down in front of her again and put her left foot onto his bent leg. He carefully removed dirt and thorns and imbued a dabber with iodine. The brown liquid burned terribly, but Eleanor bravely clenched her teeth. He was so gentle, so caring. Just everything about this house had been so friendly, candid, well-meaning right from the moment she had entered. Nearly perfect. Elmo lived, it seemed, in a faultless family. Eleanor allowed herself this assumption, without knowing his parents or the relation between them and their son.

"So, what or whom did you flee from?" he repeated, attending to her other foot. Again, it took her a few moments to respond.

"From Anthony." Her voice caved in. But she had to sum up tonight's events to inform Elmo properly.

"Why? What did he do?" Eleanor felt like being in an interrogation, and yet she felt a lot better than in the street earlier.

"He ... ," she began, wriggling anxiously. She couldn't. The memory choked her. Elmo, who was providing Eleanor's deeper cuts with band-aid, looked up and saw the girl's nervous face. He carefully put down her foot and sat down next to her.

"What did he do to you?" he asked again. His question activated a retrospect in Eleanor's head, making her recall all the embarrassing moments in Anthony's house. There was no holding back: she burst into tears again. Every single image was like a slap in the face.

--

Elmo wasn't sure what to do. He had never seen Eleanor like this before. Something indescribably terrible must have happened at the party. So terrible that she was afraid of calling a spade a spade. Her face was drowned in tears, dark streaks of make-up running down her cheeks. She was so helpless, so frail. And she needed him. Elmo moved up to her and gently wrapped his arm around her shoulder. Instantly, Eleanor leaned on his chest. She let her tears out and sobbed quietly in frequent intervals.

It was an awful sight, and he regretted that he hadn't listened to her, that he had wanted to vent his anger first. Her behavior towards him had been pretty unfair lately, but it didn't matter any more. It cost the rat boy quite an effort to be so close to her, to touch her. He feared that he would seem too obtrusive. But since she didn't shoo him, he dared to hug her a little more. Eleanor let it happen. They were so close that he could feel her body tremble. Elmo took her free hand and patted it. It seemed to help, for her breathing became quieter and the sobbing faded.

"Listen, Eleanor," he whispered and cradled her like a small child. "It's important that you tell me what happened." She shook her head. It was no use forcing her to answer, so he said, "OK, I'll wait."

The rat girl sniffed. Her tears ran dry, yet twitches shook her body every now and then. A few minutes passed until Eleanor opened her mouth.

"He ... H-he tried ..." Another shiver. She swallowed a few times and deeply breathed in and out.

"He tried to rape me."


	15. Chapter 15

_Author's Note: It's time for an update. Yes, I kept you waiting for ages and can only present you another short chapter. I had my exams these past weeks and spent most of the summer studying, which was no fun at all. I would have loved to update earlier, but I think most of you will forgive me. I had to prioritize my offline-activities. And let me assure you: the long break was worth it, since I passed my exams with pretty good grades. : ) To all those who supported me during my exam preparations: thank you for being there! And now: enjoy the chapter! _

--

She had said the words. And they caused more tears. Tears and self-hatred. But the solace he offered her could hardly outweigh what Anthony had done. Elmo put a hand on her head, whispering calming words. But Eleanor didn't hear them. She still had a lot to say. He would certainly not trouble her with questions now, but she would have to tell him the details and why she had come to him of all persons. What had happened at her house required an explicit explanation. And if she kept him in the dark about it, she would disburden neither him nor herself. Thus Eleanor waited until she had picked up her courage again and said, "There's more."

"Tell me," Elmo called upon her, still holding her. The rat girl took a deep breath and went on, "I ran away from home."

"Wha-?"

"Wait! I didn't plan to. After having fled from the party, I ran home and when I entered the door, my parents were already fighting. My father lost his job, my mother figured it out and badmouthed him – and then I chipped in with saying that she's hiding something from him as well, namely that she's cheating on him."

"Go on," Elmo said, realizing that it wasn't all she wanted to say.

"Thereupon ... my father ..." Eleanor stopped, her feelings were overwhelming her again. The rat boy reacted instantly and held her closer.

"M-my father ... he wants a divorce."

"And that's why you acted so precipitately?" he inquired.

"No," she replied. Green tear-stained eyes looked at him, all red and puffy. Her desperation and anguish affected him deeply, but he withstood her look. Elmo tried to show her that she could confide to him without reservation.

"It's much worse," the rat girl went on after a few moments. Her voice had calmed down. "She begged him not to do that to her. But he didn't want to hear her apologies and ..." She bit her lip and writhed. "He hit her. Several times. Yelled at her how she dared to make a fool of him and to rip him off. I didn't know what to do, I just ran away – and I left my mother behind."

No further emotional release. Her behavior towards her defenseless mother was pretty incomprehensible to Eleanor by now. She explained her decision to save her own skin with a detailed analysis of the relationship between herself and her mother. That was, admittedly, the only conclusion she could draw. Because when their bond of affection was torn, when they had become so indifferent to each other, then an action like hers was somewhat understandable – wasn't it?

"No," the boy objected. "Even if you hate your mother from the bottom of your heart, it doesn't justify what you've done. You should have prevented your father from hitting her, you should have called the police."

"And how on earth was I supposed to do that?" Eleanor retorted angrily. Elmo's warning glance made her remember that his parents were asleep. She hung her head and mumbled some apologetic words.

"I don't know, but it was non-assistance of a person in danger," he said calmly, but assertively. It was true, but Eleanor's mind had not cooperated, controlled by heavy antipathy towards her mother. Now, in retrospect, she felt guilty. She asked herself whether her mother was OK and what her father had done to calm down.

"I'm detestable," the girl mumbled and sobbed. A single tear rolled down her cheek.

"Eleanor, don't say that." Elmo looked into her eyes. "You made a mistake, one that you can't correct right now. You can only hope that your parents are OK. It doesn't make you a detestable person. You don't wanna compare yourself with Preena and Ham, do you?"

A brief smile touched Eleanor's face, but it disappeared within seconds. Thinking of her tormentors and her raging father had simply swept it off her lips.

"I'm afraid to go home," she confessed. But she also dreaded to think what her father would say or do if she failed to return. Maybe he was worried about her. He possibly felt left in the lurch concerning her mother's punishment. Her escape might also have opened his eyes. Eleanor's head was buzzing.

"You don't need to go home. You'll stay here and take a rest," she heard Elmo's soothing voice.

"But your parents ... what are you going to tell them?" Again, her bad conscience piped up. She had already put him in a precarious situation and didn't want him to lie to them again – just because of her.

"Don't you worry about that. I suggest you go to bed now. You had a terrible day and you need some rest. And as far as my parents are concerned: you don't have to deal with that." He smiled and a burdensome warmth entangled Eleanor's heart. She was glad that he had let her say what she wanted to say, she was thankful for his patience and care. And yet she felt miserable. She had run him down, yet he was willing to forgive her. He was a thoroughly good-tempered person and if there was someone who deserved a happy, fulfilled life: it was him.

"Thank you," Eleanor croaked like a toad. "Thank you for everything you've done. And please forgive my bitchiness."

Elmo smiled placably. "Thank _you_ for the apology," he said.

"I don't wanna be like this anymore. Look at me! That's not me, is it?" Eleanor looked at herself and the disgust towards her body – her oh-so-desirable body – was all there again. She felt queasy.

"Right, it's not the Eleanor I know. But it doesn't matter. I accept you, whoever you choose to be. And if you wish to go on with your experiment, I'll respect your decision," he assured her.

"My experiment made me even uglier," she went on without responding to him. "It affected my personality." She fought her emotions yet another time.

"That's not true," Elmo protested.

"It is true!" Eleanor lamented, tears forming in her eyes. "I'll quit! I've realized that it didn't produce the effects I desired."

"Maybe you didn't get the kind of attention you were seeking to get. But think about it for a second: was that your real intention? Didn't you rather want to show yourself and the others what you're capable of?"

He confused her, so she asked, "What do you mean?"

"Your 'transformation' showed them how pretty you really are," he answered.

"Huh?" Eleanor didn't get it at all, so Elmo told her, "In the beginning, you may have planned to show your inner beauty only to impress people. But with your present looks you admonished our society to take a good look at itself – to some extent. What I want to say is: you proved that you can seamlessly assimilate to their group. That you can be one of them. That it doesn't take much to run with the pack."

"But look: Preena hates me more than ever and Anthony tried to-"

"True," Elmo interrupted her promptly. "But don't you know what that means? You polarized, created extremes. Some people admire you, some people hate you."

"But didn't you just say I've become shallow?" the rat girl got back to the painful thought again.

"Let's put it like this: you overshot the mark. But nevertheless you let your intelligence coordinate all your actions. Your bad conscience intervened, you realized your mistake and apologized to me," Elmo ended his statement. Eleanor was stunned. She had never thought about it from such a point of view. But it sounded plausible.

"You mean ... I can be like the others ... without being them?" she summarized what had been said.

"Absolutely," Elmo confirmed her interpretation. "You can meet the ideal, but you deliberately decide against obtaining it. And that, dear Eleanor, characterizes your true self. It makes you pretty."

She felt flattered. Pretty ... he had just called her "pretty". Was it just a term in a scientific context or was it meant as a compliment?

"Do you really think so?" she asked in a hushed voice.

"Yes." He said the truth, Eleanor could feel it. And it made her happy. Again, there were tears in her eyes, but it were tears of joy. She put her arms around him and hugged him as close as she could. Elmo stiffened and gasped for breath, but he let it happen. He didn't want her to loose her self-esteem completely. And if he was able to lift her mood again, it made him happy as well. It was an incredibly wonderful feeling to be of help.

"You're so kind," Eleanor mumbled. "Thank you." She lifted her head and looked at him, smiling, and he smiled back at her. They didn't need words.

"And now it's time for you to sleep," Elmo said playfully. Eleanor chuckled.

"But I don't have anything to sleep in. And what am I supposed to wear tomorrow?" she thought aloud.

"I'll give you one of my t-shirts. And it's not morning yet, so worrying about that is not necessary." He walked over to his closet, hauled out a black something and handed it to her.

"Here. I wear it when I experiment. Don't worry, there are no chemicals on it, I laundered it just recently," he assured her.

I wouldn't care if there were chemicals on it, Eleanor thought. She just wanted to take off this dress eventually. She hesitated. She didn't want to change in his presence.

"Oh. I understand." He opened the door without a sound, walked out of the room and closed the door quietly. She didn't want to insinuate that he was a Peeping Tom, yet Eleanor turned away from the door and unknotted the straps in her neck. After having opened the zipper and having stripped the dress from her body, she felt incredibly light. She felt as if all burdens just dropped off her shoulders. She put the folded dress aside and put on his t-shirt. It was tighter than expected, but she didn't want to be fussy. The rat girl walked over to the door and beckoned Elmo to come in, her arms folded in front of her chest.

"Everything OK?" he inquired, frowning. "You still look pretty tense."

How accurate he put it! Eleanor's mind raced. Where would she sleep? In his bed? And where would he spend the night? Next to her? If so, would he take her in his arms so she'd have a good rest? Or would he take advantage of the situation and ... ?

No, she mustn't think like that! It wasn't fair, it was spiteful. She shook her head, not considering that Elmo interpreted this gesture as a reply to his question.

"What's up with you? Are you not feeling well?" He put his hands on her shoulders and looked at her in worry.

"Huh?" His touch brought Eleanor back down to earth. "No, I'm OK. But ... where will I sleep?"

"Well, in my bed of course!" He smirked at her modesty.

"And you?" she asked tentatively.

"The bed is all yours. I'll take some blankets and sleep on the floor."

"OK," Eleanor muttered to herself and let him lead her to the bed. She sat down on the soft mattress, tucked herself in and bedded her head on his pillow. His bed was so cozy that she instantly got the feeling of having slept on a hard flagstone for years. Fatigue took over her all at once and made her yawn. Covering her mouth with her hand, she watched her best and only friend switching over to a cross-legged sitting position.

"You're so good to me, Elmo," Eleanor mumbled dizzily before sleep took her by the hand.


	16. Chapter 16

_Author's Note: Finally the next update! And it's longer than the other chapters, eh? : ) Enjoy and please review!_

--

Eleanor had fallen asleep within seconds. Elmo didn't mind, for she must have had the worst day of her life. Even though he had tinkered with the idea of not letting her in, he was glad to have decided against that option. She had really needed his help and hadn't just been looking for a shoulder to cry on to ease her lovesickness.

He wouldn't ask how Anthony had managed to pester her. He could put two and two together and he wouldn't bother Eleanor with any questions. But her family issues were far more complicated. He had found out that there wasn't much love left in the relationship between mother and daughter. And Eleanor had told him that her mother had been cheating on her husband for quite some time. She had been preying him while waiting for a great adventure. Her affairs had offered her to escape from her family, yet Elmo didn't understand why Mrs. Johansson hadn't dropped her husband for another man. Why had she stayed with him and her daughter when she didn't care about them?

Elmo didn't feel sorry for the girl in his bed. He held her in high regard. She was a lot more self-confident than she thought she was. An emotional outburst like hers proved that she had a heart – something that Anthony, Preena and the other idiots missed. They wouldn't be able to destroy her.

Elmo sincerely wished that he could claim to be like her one day. He often lost himself in thoughts of a different life as a different person. In his fantasies, he was a lot braver, stronger and more self-confident. But his ideas always turned into ridiculous caricatures of himself. What did he expect to become? A superhero? One of those ludicrous guys with supernatural powers? That couldn't be it! He was glad to know Eleanor, who brought him back down to earth and showed him that picking up one's courage wasn't too difficult. "You're so good to me," she had said ... Oh well, he thought, a little dreaming should be alright.

Elmo started to feel drowsy and his legs were numb. How long had he been sitting like that?

"No ..."

He looked at the rat girl. She had talked in her sleep and seemed to be dreaming. Probably no sweet dreams, since her eyelids were fluttering and she was grimacing. The rat boy instinctively took her hand and held it. Eleanor winced; she probably imagined herself in danger. But when he squeezed her fingers a little more, yet softly, she relaxed.

"It's alright," he whispered. "I'm here." As if she had heard him, she quietly heaved a sigh. Elmo smiled. He put his chin on the mattress and observed Eleanor. The minutes passed as he watched over her rest. He just couldn't avert his eyes from the look of relaxation on her face.

When the first signs of dawn showed up on the horizon, exhaustion finally made him fall asleep as well, his fingers stilled wrapped around hers.

--

Eleanor was sitting on her desk chair. She hadn't moved for over half an hour. After having fled from Anthony's party, she had run home – only to find the house completely deserted. She had locked in her room, afraid that he might still be after her, and was hoping that someone would come to save her. But she was all alone, it was pitch-dark and silent.

All of a sudden, the walls of her room blurred, like they were melting. Eleanor jumped up and reached for the doorknob when a heavy tremor knocked her off her feet. She covered her head. An earthquake? Another bang was heard, next to her right ear. It sounded as if someone was pounding the roof to get inside. Eleanor heard someone laughing viciously, and when she looked up, she saw Anthony's face through a hole in the ceiling. She screamed and tried to unlock the door, but it wouldn't give in. The canine's huge hand reached for her and the rat girl screamed even more, as if the piercing sound of her voice would stop him.

–

When Eleanor opened her eyes, she found herself in a bed that obviously wasn't hers.

"Elmo?" There was a knock on the door.

Eleanor started to remember where she was. She had sought shelter and had received it from her best friend after having wandered about aimlessly half the night. The person in front of the door had to be his mother.

The girl looked around. Elmo was sitting on the floor and leaning against the bed. He had placed his head on the mattress, sleeping placidly – and holding her hand. She looked at him in confusion. But before she could give any more thoughts to that, there was another knock on the door.

"Elmo, it's lunch time, do you hear me?" His mother sounded peevish. She probably would not leave before she received an answer. Eleanor had no other choice: she had to wake her friend.

"Hey!" She poked his shoulder. "Wake up, it's your mother."

Elmo voiced something under his breath, but she didn't understand what he was saying. He smacked quietly, but didn't open his eyes one bit. The situation slowly but surely got precarious.

"I'm waiting!" his mother called from outside.

Eleanor nudged him again, but he just mumbled, "Mom ... please … 5 minutes …"

"OK, I'm coming in, you have been warned."

Eleanor pushed him, his hand slipped from hers and he slumped to the floor. At the same time, a small woman entered the room.

"I told you -" She paused. There was a person sitting in the bed, but it wasn't her son. A girl, approximately Elmo's age, was looking at her and blushing instantly. Mrs. Sputterspark looked back in confusion, her mouth slightly open. She then looked at her son on the floor, who was sitting up and rubbing the back of his head.

"Eleanor, what – Mom!" Elmo cringed as he saw his mother standing in the door frame. There fell a deep silence that filled the room for some unbearably long moments. Eleanor eventually gulped and mumbled sheepishly, "Good morning, Mrs. Sputterspark." She tried to smile, but Elmo's mother looked even more perplex and turned to her son again. "Elmo? What is going on here?"

"This is Eleanor," he introduced the girl in his bed. "She … uh ... dropped in here tonight and ... stayed over."

"I'm not blind," his mother answered coolly. Her gaze pierced Eleanor's eyes, and the girl looked away. "What I don't understand is why she did it. And why you lied to me tonight."

Elmo sighed. He hated to disappoint his parents. "She called on me because there was no other way." His voice was calm and sedate. "I kindly ask you to excuse my dishonesty and that you please refrain from asking her why she came here."

His straightforwardness discomfited Eleanor. But she knew that lies wouldn't make the situation any better. He wanted to take the feeling of guilt from her, but that made her feel like the source of irritation all the more.

"I'm sorry to have startled you. I didn't mean to," the girl apologized. Her words and Elmo's explanation seemed to be satisfying, for Mrs. Sputterspark's facial expression softened. She walked over to them and knelt down in front of the bed. She was a slim woman with short brown hair and a kind face. Elmo looked a lot like her. However, she had – and that thought made Eleanor grin inside – a way more accurate dress style than her son.

"I'm sorry for reacting like this, but my son doesn't have many female visitors." Elmo instantly blushed at the sound of his mother's words. "Eleanor, right?" Mrs. Sputterspark asked and the rat girl nodded.

"Nice to meet you. My name is Clara," Mrs. Sputterspark said and they shook each other's hands.

"Nice to meet you, too." Eleanor tried to hold her breath. It supposably smelled of alcohol.

"I'll prepare the bathroom for you," Mrs. Sputterspark said to her. "You can join us for lunch when you're ready."

"Thank you very much," Eleanor whispered. Elmo's mother stood up, smiled at them once more and left the room. The girl flopped back into the pillow.

"She can be pretty impetuous at times," the boy justified his mother's reaction.

"It's alright," the rat girl said. "She had good reason to be skeptical. But that she expects me to stay for lunch ..."

"Of course! Now that she saw you, she wants to get to know more about you. Plus, you need to eat." Elmo sprawled his limbs. "Did you have a good sleep?"

"Yes, I did," Eleanor replied and looked out of the window. The sun was shining brightly and there was no wind. "But I dreamed many nasty things."

"Would you mind telling me?" Elmo required and stood up to open the window.

"I underwent everything that happened last night again." She played with the corner of his blanket. " I'm going to end my experiment and-"

"You won't!" he interrupted her and gave her the same piercing look his mother had given her.

"Why not?" They had already talked about that, hadn't they?

"You gotta see through what you started. If you give up now, you will concede a point to Anthony and all the others. Your retreat would show them that they were able to push you around once again."

Eleanor kept silent. He was right, she mustn't give up like that.

"I believe in you. I'm there for you if you need me, I promise." As a sign of affirmation, he took her hands and squeezed them softly. "Trust me!"

Eleanor sat up and smiled at him. "Thank you, Elmo! I guess it's time for us to get ready. I don't want to keep your parents waiting." She stood up, took her dress and asked him to show her the bathroom.

–

She would have liked to face Elmo's parents wearing something different than this revealing dress, but she had no choice. At least it wasn't too dirty or smelly. So after she had showered, she put it on and went back to Elmo's room so he could get ready for lunch. In the meantime, Eleanor stood by the open window and thought of her parents. Where and how had they slept? Were they alright? It was not before Elmo tapped her on the shoulder that she stopped pondering.

"Wanna go downstairs?" he asked.

"Yes, sure. I'm actually pretty hungry now," she admitted and followed him. Elmo's parents were already sitting at the kitchen table and talking. When the two teenagers entered the room, they looked up and smiled. The perfect family.

"Hello, Eleanor," Mr. Sputterspark greeted the girl. He stood up and shook her hand, even curtsied a bit. "Nice to meet you."

"Hi," was all Eleanor could say. She was overwhelmed by the open-heartedness Elmo's parents showed her. She was a stranger after all.

"Take a seat," he said. She nodded and sat down on one of the chairs that faced the window.

"You're lucky, Mom made the rice dish you liked so much. And this time it's warm," Elmo grinned. Mrs. Sputterspark gave her a good helping of the rice while Elmo was pouring juice in her glass. She thanked them and when she tried the first mouthful of food, she couldn't help but sigh with pleasure.

"Wow, I don't get to hear that from you two!" Mrs. Sputterspark complained and pulled a face. The others chuckled. It was such a warm-hearted atmosphere that Eleanor caught herself wishing she was part of the family. She was glad that they didn't ask her any questions. They were accepting her presence – accepting her. Mrs. Sputterspark had probably explained her husband that she had dropped in in the middle of the night and that there were reasons why the girl didn't want to review the recent events now.

Eleanor looked around the kitchen. The room looked even more interesting in broad daylight. The lamps all differed in size and shape, some of them were looking pretty eccentric and unusual.

"Did you make them all yourself?" she asked Elmo, who sat face to face with her.

"Yes," he answered. "Do you like them?"

"Like them? They are awesome! I wished I was as creative as you!" she complimented him.

"Come on ..." He blushed.

"No, seriously!" Eleanor affirmed. "I'm a klutz when it comes to creative things."

"You will find your way. And if it means following your father's footsteps and leaving his path someday," Mr. Sputterspark suddenly said.

"Thank you for your encouragement," the rat girl said and blushed softly. She wasn't used to so much care from people she hardly knew.

"Well, his works are very forward-looking," he went on. "And provided you are as smart as him – which I'm totally sure of – then you won't have any problems in your future life."

Eleanor didn't know what to respond. Her father had contributed a lot to his field of science and his publications had met great approval. She was indeed proud to be the daughter of such a successful scientist. And yet she couldn't identify with the reputation that preceded him and the expectations that people imposed on her. Especially now that he was jobless. She silently took a sip from her glass.

"Do you want some more rice?" Elmo inquired.

"No, thank you," she replied and gave him a warm smile.

"Oh, but you have to try my wife's fruit salad!" Mr. Sputterspark declared and jumped up to get the bowl. Elmo set the table with small bowls and spoons.

"Did you use the fruit from your garden?" Eleanor asked before she tried the salad, which was just as tasty as the rice.

"Yes, except for the kiwi fruits," Elmo's mother answered.

"Wow, that's great!" Eleanor said and smiled. Mrs. Sputterspark smiled back at her delightedly.

--

After dessert, Eleanor leaned back and looked out of the window. She felt the need to examine the garden in all its glory. She asked whether to help clearing the table, but Mr. Sputterspark said that he and his wife would clean up. Eleanor thanked them once again and stood up to follow Elmo. He had realized where she had been looking frequently and thus led her out of the house.

The number of trees and shrubs with all kinds of fruits and vegetables was hard to estimate from the first glance. There were apples, pears, cherries, plums, hazelnuts, strawberries and tiny oranges as well as a grapevine. Under the kitchen window, there was a huge vegetable patch with tomatoes, lettuce, beans, carrots, potatoes and onions as well as pot-herbs on the window sill. The extraordinary smell of all the plants together was breathtaking.

"Your garden is awesome." Eleanor said. The rampant mix was so much more appealing than the park-like garden of the Mitchell family.

"Oh yes, it's a great convenience," Elmo confirmed. He watched the bare-footed girl walking over the grass and lifting her arms towards the sky, rising up on her tiptoes. But Eleanor's legs immediately gave in and she fell to the ground, grimacing. Elmo came to her aid.

"You should refrain from doing that," he remarked. Eleanor nodded and changed to a cross-legged position. She ran her hand over the soft blades of grass and sighed. A nagging thought was wavering inside her head and wouldn't leave her alone. So she brought herself to ask, "Did you tell your parents anything about tonight?"

"No," Elmo said and looked at her, puzzled. "Why should I? And above all: what should I have told them?"

"Something. The reason why I came to you or … I don't know. I have the feeling that they are handling me with kid gloves," she replied. She didn't want to decry them, but it rankled her nonetheless.

"What do you mean?" Elmo inquired.

"They were extremely kind to me. I don't want to offend you and your parents, but you make such a perfect impression that ... that ..." She couldn't go on. Elmo patted her shoulder.

"My family is not perfect. Not perfect at all. But we are very tolerant and open-minded towards others, even strangers. That might come across as posed, but my parents and I, we truly mean what we say. And in this case, Mom and Dad are … well, pretty excited. Because you're a girl." He grinned bashfully. "I don't have any friends. And when the first person that comes over to my house after years happens to be a pretty girl like you, then -"

"'Pretty'?" Eleanor interrupted him – and immediately felt stupid for doing so. There was nothing wrong with being called pretty.

"Yes. That's what they said when I was downstairs while you were showering. And now stop being sad. That doesn't look good on you." He lifted her head and made her look at him.

"I'm sorry. But I can't stop comparing our families." Eleanor rubbed her eyes. They were itching. No surprise: she hadn't removed her contact lenses overnight.

"You're still afraid to go home," Elmo noticed. She nodded.

"Of course! I don't know what's expecting me there! Maybe he killed her." The way she was thinking about her father scared her. As if he was a criminal.

"Don't talk like that. You know what? I'll walk you home so we both can get a picture of the situation," the rat boy said.

"You want to come along?"

"Sure! It would be discourteous if I let you go alone. I'll ask my parents to bring us to your house," Elmo suggested.

"Alright," Eleanor consented. "But I first want to talk to my father _alone_."

He agreed and went to talk with his parents. Meanwhile, the rat girl's thoughts were circling around Elmo's gentleman-like behavior. Many guys could definitely take a leaf out of his book. It was his benevolence, she thought. His education, which instructed him to treat others – and especially women – with respect and attentiveness. It was kind of him, but he had to be careful not to cross the line between "adequate" and "immoderate".


	17. Chapter 17

A few minutes later, Elmo returned and he had – of course – brought along her shoes. She refused his offer to help her up, for she didn't want to be dependent on him. She had to stand her ground.

Eleanor thanked Mrs. Sputterspark one last time for her hospitality and for lunch before Elmo's father took the two teenagers to the girl's house. On their way there, the rat girl didn't speak a word. She looked out of the car window quietly and examined the neighborhood a little closer. Everything looked even nicer in broad daylight. The street in which the Sputtersparks lived was quiet, quaint and lined with small, simple houses, which were all surrounded by the kind of garden Elmo's parents had. A delightful spot to settle down and raise a family with the one you loved. Not that Eleanor didn't like her neighborhood. But it had become pretty boring over the years. And the cloud that had been cast over the house of the Johanssons was still there when they arrived. Eleanor thanked Mr. Sputterspark for the ride and then turned to face her home with a queasy feeling in her stomach. It seemed dead. Yes, that was an appropriate depiction.

As they were walking up the driveway and approaching the front door, Eleanor's misgiving got worse. Something perplexed her and told her that really bad news were awaiting them. The girl gulped hard, took a deep breath and rang the bell. Some endless moments passed, but nothing happened. She rang the bell again, a little longer this time. But the door remained locked.

"Strange," she said to herself and looked at the house. "Where the heck-?"

"Eleanor!"

A shrill voice had called her. She turned around and saw a middle-aged woman rush up to her. It was Mrs. Baker, her chatty neighbor from next door. Her grouchy face was glaring red and her piercing eyes stared at

Eleanor and Elmo in turns. He, in particular, seemed to magically attract her attention.

"Thank God you're here! Where have you been?" she quacked excitedly.

"I've been ... wait a second, what's that to you?" The rat girl didn't have to explain herself to this old fogey! This woman had nothing better to do than to squat behind her curtains day and night in order to spy on the neighborhood.

"Where are my parents?" Eleanor asked nervously.

"Oh girl!" Mrs. Baker bristled at her. "I can't help but express my disappointment about your churlishness. Oh, I was so stupid to believe your father raised a well-behaved girl! Why, no: you're roaming the streets and hanging around with whippersnappers – just like your mother!"

Eleanor was puffed up. "Who do you think yo are?!" she hissed. She felt the sudden need to slap this malicious person. Elmo took hold of her trembling arm and thus prevented any harm. But the furious girl left the small, plump woman cold. She stepped up to the two and whispered with a meaningful emphasis in her voice, "Your mother was rushed to the hospital and your father has been picked up by the cops, so to speak."

"What?!" Eleanor blurted out. She cut loose from Elmo.

"You heard correctly," Mrs. Baker sighed and examined her fingernails with great interest before she gave Eleanor an ice-cold look. "I mean: it was pretty clear that your mother wouldn't be able to save her bacon. But I have to admit that I expected your father to struggle hard against being arrested ..."

"Why … why do you always have to poke your nose into everything?" Eleanor was boiling with rage.

"Excuse me?? Your parents could hardly be ignored, they woke the whole block with their yelling! And furthermore: who would have passed you these precious information first-hand if I hadn't been there?" She smiled complacently and turned on her heels in order to leave the totally alienated Eleanor and the just as much confused Elmo alone. But the rat girl reacted quickly and grabbed the woman's shoulder.

"How do I know you're telling the truth?"

Mrs. Baker pointed at a bus, which was driving past. "Why don't you take a ride downtown and find it out yourself?" A good idea. Eleanor grabbed Elmo's arm and dragged him along, running after the bus that stopped at the corner just now. Her feet immediately gave in to this strain, which complicated running. With great presence of mind, Elmo gestured the bus driver to wait.

They sat next to each other silently while the skyscrapers of downtown St. Canard were leaping into view. The city had enormously increased in size these past ten years and would probably keep growing uncontrollably in the future. New shops, restaurants, offices as well as public institutions emerged everywhere you looked and constantly changed the city's profile. Eleanor liked her hometown, but it was weird and spooky to see what the citizens were turning it into.

"The police department is over there, maybe we should stop here first," Elmo remarked. Eleanor agreed and thus they stepped off at the next station. The rat girl couldn't imagine that her father was kept here. She hoped that all this was just a bad joke or a nightmare. But she had to gain certainty, so she worked up her courage, ascended the scuffed stone steps and entered the building, Elmo behind her. She had never seen the inside of a police department before and had always hoped that she would never have to. How wrong you could be.

"Can I help you?" A chubby female duck appeared behind a desk and eyed the teenagers curiously.

"I hope so," Eleanor answered and cleared her throat. "We would like to visit Mr. Martin Johansson."

"Let me see," the officer mumbled and ran over the pages of her documents. "Johansson ... Martin ... ah, there he is! Do you have an appointment?"

Of course she hadn't thought of arranging anything in the heat of the moment. Eleanor shook her head.

"I'm sorry then … ," the duck woman said and shrugged.

"Please, Miss," Elmo intervened. "He's her father and she ... I mean ... we would really like to know how he's doing and ... what happened at all."

Whether his poised demeanor or the fact that one of them was a family member softened the woman up – Eleanor couldn't tell. The officer lifted her eyebrows and said, "Well, I think we can grant an exemption in this case. One moment, please." She stooped down to break out a bunch of keys from under the desk and thereupon guided them to an adjoining room.

"Wait here, I'll bring him," she explained and disappeared. There was nothing but a table and a few chairs in the sparse, white room. The pale walls were lit by a bare light bulb. Eleanor was twiddling with her sore feet while Elmo was focusing the light bulb with interest.

"When do your parents expect you to be back?" she broke the silence.

"Sometime," he replied. "I said I'd ring them up. I'll stay with you until it's over." This concession encouraged Eleanor and she smiled swiftly. The door opened with a loud creak and the officer stopped in the door frame to let Mr. Johansson in. "I'll be outside. Knock on the door when you're done talking." Eleanor nodded and closed the door behind herself. Mr. Johansson shuffled towards one of the chairs and sat down slowly. He looked scary: his face was white as chalk and more haggard than ever. The corners of his mouth sagged and his eyes were cheerless. He was a shadow of his former self, marked by the past events. He put down his wan, handcuffed hands and looked down at them.

"_Hej Pappa,"_ Eleanor tried to greet him as neutral as possible. She couldn't classify her feelings. On the one hand, she was happy that he was alright – considering he was under arrest. And yet the horror about his unforeseen brutality, the shock about him being in custody and about his appearance prevailed.

"This is a friend of mine," Eleanor pointed towards the rat boy. "His name is Elmo."

There was no reaction from her father. He just kept staring at his hands.

"What happened, _Pappa_?" The rat girl leaned forward. If he didn't reply to trivial questions, he would possibly rather feel up to commenting on last night's incidents.

"You've seen it with your own eyes," he whispered. His voice was weak. "I beat your mother into hospital." He buried his face in his hands and shook his head. Eleanor's hands clutched her dress until they hurt. Mrs. Baker hadn't lied.

"Where is she?" Eleanor inquired.

"St. Canard Central Hospital," Mr. Johansson whispered. "The cops arrived pretty soon. Maybe I would have killed your mother if they hadn't." He lifted his head and looked at his daughter. She believed to perceive a vicious sparkle in his eyes.

"You should have seen her. She didn't stop asking my forgiveness. Even when they came to arrest me. She just wouldn't stop." He paused and looked at Elmo with expressionless eyes.

"Don't you think that she still loves me after all?" Mr. Johansson faced his daughter again. He had put up a dreamy smile, but he was looking through Eleanor. He seemed completely absent-minded and somewhat … out of his mind. It was as if her _Pappa_ didn't exist anymore. The man in front of her could also have been a stranger, some random guy from the asylum. It hurt her to see him off the track.

"No," she eventually replied to his question. "She doesn't. Particularly not after you beat her up. And besides ..." She paused. Was it right to utter her suspicion? It was possibly the only way to tease out the truth. "Besides, I don't think you still love her. At least not in the way one should love his wife."

Silence fell. Eleanor's father looked at his clenched fists. He didn't seem to have an answer in store, which confirmed her assumption.

"When I told you she was unfaithful, it dawned on you. You couldn't avert your eyes from the truth anymore, you couldn't come to her defense anymore. That frustrated you so much that you went berserk. All your love turned into hate within seconds. All you wanted was revenge." Eleanor drooped her eyelids. "That can't be forgiven."

Her analysis seemed to affect him. Mr. Johansson bit his lips, and his daughter believed to see regret in his eyes. Or was it just resentment that she had seen through him?

"I physically wanted to pay her back the emotional pain from all these years," he conceded. "I overreacted, that's true. But she deserved it – and I would do it again." He lifted his head and looked into his daughter's eyes. There it was again. His glare, his words were pure poison. He was unrepentant. And it hurt her. The negative attitude towards her mother couldn't be repealed overnight – but right now, she would rather side with her. Her father was obsessed. He still loved his wife in some way. But his feelings were so strong that he would inevitably destroy her – should they clash again.

Eleanor turned towards Elmo and said, "I'd like to go now. I need to know about Mom's condition." She stood up and walked towards the door in order to call in the officer. But before she could knock, her father had jumped up and was now clinging to her. He was on his knees, begging her.

"Eleanor, please!" He grabbed her hand and squeezed it so tightly that she cried out in pain.

"Don't leave me here! It's terrible!" His wild eyes curdled her blood.

"_Pappa_, come to your senses!" She didn't want to look at him anymore, this broken man who used to be her self-confident, down-to-earth, loving father. She flashed Elmo a glance, who perceived it as a request to call for help. He knocked on the door and stepped back to let the officer in. When she saw Eleanor's father hunched on the floor, she immediately took a hand in the situation and freed the rat girl's hand from his clasp.

"Mr. Johansson, calm down," she said more to herself, since he didn't pay any attention to her. He was lashing about now and kept staring at Eleanor while he did so.

"Help me!" he cawed. "I don't deserve being treated like this!"

"Well, _Pappa_, maybe you do. Maybe this all will help you to become normal again." Eleanor watched him being pushed out of the room, heard his desperate cries. She felt an inner emptiness that was beyond words. When she and Elmo left the room in order to wait for the officer to return, her thoughts were spinning around. She wanted to cry, wanted to pity her once-so-admirable father, wanted to lament his unfortunate situation. But she couldn't. Her head was occupied by a blockade that prevented any kind of feeling from getting in.

"I'm sorry you had to experience him like this. It must be dreadful for you two." The officer was back and tried a conciliatory smile. Eleanor couldn't utter any words except for a thank-you. She and Elmo left the police department and walked down the steps to the bus stop in front of the building. No word was spoken. Eleanor didn't want to talk right now, and Elmo seemed to sense that.


	18. Chapter 18

Thus the minutes passed before the next bus arrived. Still remaining silent, they stepped on and sat down far in the back. Eleanor leaned her head against the windowpane and looked outside, watching the houses and cars float by like colorful shadows. Finding her father so changed was bad enough, but she feared the encounter with her mother even more. How would she react? Would she yell at her? Would she be relieved? Would she ignore her?

"Eleanor?"

She turned around to face Elmo, but didn't look at him.

"I know this'll probably not cheer you up, but: What are you thinking right now?" he inquired reluctantly. The rat girl turned away again.

"Nothing," she replied. "I mean ... 'nothing' is not true. I … I just can't put it into words. I've been experiencing so much in all these years that last night's events don't, well … get to me? I dunno."

"You seem rather unconcerned," Elmo remarked, but instantly regretted his comment, for Eleanor answered back, "Excuse me, but how would _you_ feel if you were in my situation? It's as though my parents have been replaced!"

Elmo didn't know what to respond. She was right that he couldn't put himself in her position.

"I'm sorry," Eleanor sighed.

"It's alright. But … well, you have to admit that you're taking it in rather calmly," Elmo said, but she shook her head and disagreed, "No, I'm not calm. I just seem that way, and I'm surprised that I do. But believe me, I'm experiencing an emotional chaos. I don't know what to feel." She stood up, for they had to get out at the next station. Eleanor would have loved to let the pent-up emotions out. But the blockade she had experienced at the police station was still there.

They were facing St. Canard Central Hospital. Another cheerless, gray block of concrete that did not give the people inside the comfort and solace they needed.

"Ready?" Elmo looked at her and tried an encouraging smile. Eleanor didn't move, she didn't dare to make even the tiniest step towards the building. The girl was shivering all over her body.

"Or would you like to go home?" Elmo had observed that she was quarreling with herself and didn't want to pressure her. Maybe with her condition, it was better to go. But Eleanor shook her head.

"We need to know," she whispered – and didn't move one inch. She just stared at her best friend, seeking help, and he looked back patiently. She had to take the first step. The eye contact between the two teenagers lasted a few long seconds, in which other people passed them by, shamelessly goggling them as if they were naked. Eventually Eleanor did the first move and dragged her feet up the steps, with Elmo slowly following her.

The tiled entrance hall of the hospital exuded a heavy odor. The atmosphere inside was just as icy as outside. Many people were wandering around. People who were talking to each other merely with their eyes, gazing, apparently asking themselves what was afflicting the others and their relatives. Eleanor fairly disliked hospitals. It was like being on show. She walked over to the information desk so she wouldn't expose herself to those rubbernecks any longer.

"Can I help you?" the nurse at the reception asked in a bored voice. Oh great, Eleanor thought. If the rest of the personnel was just as cordial, then her mother was in good hands.

"I've come to see my mother, Mrs. Carolyn Johansson," she retorted in an equally unfriendly tone. The nurse hostilely gawked at her with her excessively made up eyes, then started to rummage the drawers of the cabinet behind her and, in doing so, smacked her chewing gum pleasurably.

"Yup, here she is," the nurse said with such an intonation as if Eleanor had won a price. "Psychosomatic ward, 5th floor, room 514."

"Thanks." Eleanor dashed off, Elmo close in, and headed for the elevators. She didn't feel able to climbing the stairs. She angrily pushed the button several times.

"Have you seen that? Have you seen _that_?" she railed and shot a furious glance back at the reception.

"Yes, but never mind," Elmo tried to calm her down. The elevator had arrived and Eleanor stepped in. She leaned against the cold wall while he pushed the button for the 5th floor. She rued her gruff behavior, but did he really expect her to accept being treated like that? Since she was crossing her arms in front of her chest and staring at the ceiling, Elmo suspected that it was not advisable to turn himself in to her ranting. So he kept his mouth shut.

When the display above the door showed '5', Eleanor leaped up and waited for the doors to open to then quickly pace up the corridor in order to find her mother's room. Elmo was watching her. Her tension was starting to stress him as well. But suddenly she waved and pointed at the door in front of her, so Elmo joined her – but just like before, she didn't move. Her anxiety had won once more. Thus he took the initiative, gently knocked on the door and opened it quietly.

"No, I'm not ready!" Eleanor hissed, but it was too late to back down. She sighed audibly and entered the room. There was one single bed in the meagerly furnished room, which made it seem as deterring as a prison cell. The dirty white wallpapers flaked at several places and the pieces of furniture were placed so lovelessly that it just _had _to be a challenge to recover. There were no curtains in front of the window, so that the sun was directly shining on the sleeping person in the bed: Eleanor's mother.

Her slim body was completely covered with grayish blankets, only her head was popping through. She looked indescribably old and broken. Her fur was gray and had lost all of its shininess, just like her hair, which seemed to be glued to her cheeks and the pillow. Her mouth and eyes were tightly shut and her breath was weak and sharp. What terrified Eleanor the most, however, were the countless scratches in her face, the bruises on her cheeks and her forehead, around her eyes and on the shoulder blades. There were lacerations below her hair line, which, the girl concluded from looking at them, had been provisionally stitched up, but not cleaned correctly. The overall appearance was eerie: Carolyn Johansson looked like a dead person, laid out before her funeral. Nausea crept up in the rat girl's throat and she went straight to the wind to breathe in some fresh air. Meanwhile, Elmo was moving two chairs closer to the bed and then walked over to Eleanor. He stopped at the open window and followed her gaze, which rested upon the roaring traffic.

"Incredible. It's just incomprehensible! I mean: Look at her!" Eleanor pointed over her shoulder. "_This _is not care, it's impertinence! She's in a miserable condition!" She pressed a hand against her forehead and closed her eyes.

"This is the psychosomatic ward, right?" Elmo repeated the information the nurse had given them. Eleanor snorted scornfully and opened her eyes again.

"An awesome name, but they can't fool me. They probably drop in once a day to check whether she's still alive, sedate her and disappear into thin air again. She's not going to get better from psychotropics. She needs twenty-four-seven care." The last sentence was not easy for her to utter. It was obvious that she was referring to herself. Elmo lifted his hand, hesitated, and put it on the rat girl's shoulder. But Eleanor turned around and went back to her mother's bed. She took a seat and eyed her silently. The eyelids of this woman, who had theoretically not even lived half her life, were fluttering. Probably a bad dream.

Elmo had followed her, sat down as well and joined Eleanor in watching Carolyn. They neither moved nor spoke for what seemed an eternity.

Neither of them had counted the minutes, when suddenly Eleanor rose without a word and left the room. After closing the door, she squatted, although she was shaking again. Her intestines were burning, her stomach was churning, her throat was dry. She had tried to be strong, but she couldn't take it any longer. Only one single tear rolled down her cheek, but the shivers that shook her body spoke for themselves. Eleanor heard steps. Doctors, nurses, visitors? She didn't care that they were probably looking at her, she didn't deserve being pitied. It was her fault that her mother was here. This would never have happened if she hadn't told her father the truth.

When she heard that the door next to her was opened, she quickly rose and brushed off her dress. She didn't want Elmo to worry again. "Wanna go home?" Eleanor nodded. For the time being, she couldn't help her mother anyway.

Elmo dropped Eleanor off at home in the early evening. Before leaving, he worked up his courage and asked her how she would approach Anthony now. She instantly knew what he was talking about and told him soberly that she would refrain from suing him. She explained that she had no tangible proof that he had tried to rape her and that to boot, she wouldn't want to undergo the dreadful experience in the courtroom again. He had to concede that she had a point, but he was still worried and thus asked her if she wanted to stay overnight at his house once more. But Eleanor refused his offer, thanked him for his support and comfort, wished him a good night and promised to meet him in front of the school building tomorrow.

School.

After Anthony's party and Preena's attempts to shellac her, she felt the desire to stay away from this institution. But it was no use chickening out. She had an experiment to continue. She had to be present. She had to be strong. For the sake of Mom, she thought, I _have_ to.

Eleanor went to the bathroom to look at her feet. If they didn't cooperate, she would fail miserably in the tryout. It hurt as she removed the band-aid, but the wounds looked better by now. She couldn't deny that there still was a tingling sensation, but it was no use: She had to practice. And since it was a distraction from the weekend and from sitting around in the deserted house, she set to work. Before that, however, she had to get rid of that dress, so Eleanor buried it in the washing machine.

Upstairs in her room, the rat girl went through the worksheets, which had been handed to the competitors before. They included all the important jumps, tumbling and stunts. Eleanor had mastered some of them after thousands of attempts, others were really worrying her. One of them was the somersault. She managed to perform a handstand when there was a wall to support her, but how was she supposed to do that _without_ help? Additionally, she still lacked the right body-tension.

"I haven't improved one bit," she concluded, visibly disappointed. For today, however, she would content herself with jogging. While she was organizing the sheets, Murphy caught her eye. He was placidly sitting on his pillow like King Carl Gustav on his throne and observing her wordlessly. For a moment, Eleanor wanted to take him in her arms and tell him everything that had happened. But she resisted the temptation. After what her father had done, the bear bore a negative connotation. She felt sorry for him. It wasn't his fault that her father had chosen him and had given him that particular name. Murphy meant a lot to Eleanor, but at the moment he would only remind her of what had happened. Thus she gave him an apologetic look and went outside.

Monday morning greeted the students of St. Canard High School with rain. The sky was pale gray and a cold breeze was blowing. A single person, seemingly out of place, was standing in front of the main entrance, an umbrella in his hand.

Eleanor was late. Elmo had arranged this meeting because he wanted to know whether she had slept well and whether she was feeling better. In order to at least somewhat comprehend what she must be going through, he had spent half the night pondering what he would do if all this had happened to him and his parents. But he couldn't imagine what it must be like.

Finally the school bus arrived and he anticipated seeing Eleanor among all the juniors. But Elmo didn't spot her. Maybe she had decided to stay at home after all and had forgotten to inform him? Of course he would excuse her that, but still he would have liked her to call him. He heard the gong. Slightly disappointed, Elmo turned around to climb the stairs. He didn't want to be late, although he had promised Eleanor to wait.

"Elmo, wait!" There she was, in a yellow rain cape on a bicycle, which she quickly maneuvered into a cycle stand. She walked up to him and removed the cape. Her hair was wet and tied in a tousled ponytail.

"Where have you been?" he asked blankly, frowning. Why was she so cheerful?

"Jogging," came Eleanor's reply, as if it was natural to do that before school. "And you know what? I'm feeling great. Nobody and nothing can get me down today!" She threw back her dripping wet hair, spraying him with water before heading for the door confidently and opening it zestfully. Elmo remembered what she had said. From now on, her training was her top priority. But he didn't believe that she could permanently cover up, even dispel her inner chaos. They said each other goodbye in front of Eleanor's French classroom and agreed on meeting during lunch break. She promised him that they would have a more detailed conversation then.

The hours didn't seem to pass and Elmo caught himself counting down the minutes that remained. He couldn't wait to have Eleanor tell him how she had spent the day. He would love to offer her to stay at his place so she had someone to talk to. But she had not wanted that yesterday and was not likely to change her mind – or was she? To her, it probably just felt wrong.

"Hey geek!"

Elmo turned around and saw Anthony Mitchell's arrogant face. Not him, the rat boy thought, not now. It must have slipped his mind that they were attending the same classes on Mondays. The huge canine grumbled, "Tell your little girlfriend that she'd better stop her slutty behavior or I'll give her the low-down."

It appalled – no, it disgusted Elmo that Anthony did obviously not shy away from uttering cusses and even threats. Just because Eleanor had refused to sleep with him.

"Later," he answered calmly.

"Good." Anthony leaned back complacently.

"No, I meant: We will have another talk after class. Just the two of us."

"There's no need to talk. Or do you wanna let your fists do the talking?" Anthony taunted him, cracking his knuckles. But Elmo just repeated, "Later," and turned around again in order to listen to the teacher. He felt rage burn in his chest. He would show this big-headed wannabe-someone what it meant to threaten an innocent individual. And if need be, daring deeds would speak louder than words.


	19. Chapter 19

At the sound of the gong, both Elmo and Anthony rose from their seats simultaneously, collected their things and left the room behind one another. In the hall, Anthony planted himself in front of the lanky rat boy threateningly and looked down at him, his arms folded in front of his enormous chest.

"So, Sputterspark, what do you want?" he asked in a bored voice.

"Clarify something," Elmo answered shakily. He hated it when his emotions, in this case his anger, impacted the impression he wanted to convey.

"And what's that supposed to be?" An affected yawn escaped the canine. His loud voice brought other students to stop. Excited shouts could be heard as people started to gather around them, which didn't make the situation for Elmo any better. But he couldn't throw the towel now. Not like that. For the sake of Eleanor's reputation, he had to stand his ground.

"Eleanor is not a slut," Elmo defended his best friend, stressing every word he spoke. He tried to keep his voice as steady as possible.

"Boo!" Anthony laughed out loud. "Lay off, will you! First she seduces me and then she almost kills him!" He pointed at his crotch. Indignant cries and murmuring came from the crowd.

"Stop talking such a crap," Elmo snarled through clenched teeth. He usually didn't make use of that part of his vocabulary, but in this case it was appropriate – even though "crap" could almost pass as a compliment.

"And who's gonna make me? You?" Anthony sneered. He looked around to earn encouragement and cheers, but all he heard was a startled outcry of the girls, just to be followed by the sensation of something hitting his face. He hadn't been able to react quickly enough and register that Elmo had clenched his fists and attacked him. The moment of surprise caused silence, accompanied by gaping mouths. None of the other students would ever have expected Elmo to do that – not to mention that he even dared to challenge a much taller, stronger individual like Anthony, who could easily break all the rat boy's bones.

"How cute," Anthony pouted and touched his cheek. "You want to beat the daylights out of me to defend your li'l girlfriend. Say, how did she manage to wrap _you_ around her finger?" His malicious grin added even more to Elmo's irritation.

"Stop it! STOP IT!" His voice cracked; he felt rather ridiculous by now. The way he was standing there, his fists raised – it probably turned him into an even greater laughing stock. But he mustn't lose his courage now.

"She deserved it! Like mother, like daughter!" Anthony barked. Elmo's jaw dropped. That was the final straw. He was about to lose it, and he didn't care – but before he could do so, a loud, roaring voice held him back.

"What is going on here?" It was Mr. Kingsley. Elmo instantly lowered his hands, his face a bright scarlet red. He had totally forgotten that teachers used to walk along the corridors and would inevitably become aware of their fight. "Mr. Sputterspark, would you please explain to me what I'm supposed to think of _this_?"

"I ... I," he stuttered, failing to find a plausible answer. It was true: he was known as a responsible young man, he was close to come of age and had just made use of crude violence. He hung his head in shame, observing the smirking Anthony out from the corner of his eye. "Anthony provoked me," the rat boy mumbled. Great, now he was also playing the snitch. But it was the truth!

"That does not justify that you were about to do harm to a fellow student on purpose!"Mr. Kingsley shot back. "You will spend the afternoon in detention."

Anthony shouted with glee. What a triumh! "And you will join him, Mr. Mitchell," the teacher added.

"What?" Anthony cried indignantly. "But I -"

"I will not tolerate your reaction. Also, you were obviously willing to get involved and fight back. And that is not what I call a good example for our younger students."

Anthony's face abruptly turned white. He snarled and glared at Elmo.

"I will be awaiting you in the science lab at 3 pm," Mr. Kingsley announced before turning his back on them and walking away towards the teachers' lounge.

"You ... son of a – !" Anthony hissed. Now he was the one getting ready to strike a blow. "You planned that!"

"No!" Elmo assured him and backed away. Now that he had fully attracted Anthony's anger, he was helpless. The students surrounding them sensed the first blow and cheered for the canine as though this was the most important basketball match of his life. Anthony slowly raised his hand, but before he could make another move, Elmo squinched his eyes shut and bolted, shoving away a few people, and darted out the front door.

Eleanor nervously kneaded her fingers. He was late. For a second she considered it an act of revenge, but rejected the idea when she saw Elmo running towards her.

"There you are! Where have you been?" she asked, frowning. Something must be wrong. Elmo panted for breath and sat down on the grass, running his hands through his hair.

"Now ... I can ... fully ... understand ... how dangerous ... Anthony is," he gasped and swallowed.

"Why? Did he hurt you?" Eleanor sat down next to him and eyed him sorrowfully.

"No." Elmo shook his head. "That means ... well, almost."

"But how-?"

"I started it," he added quickly. Eleanor's eyes widened in shock. "What?" she whispered.

"He ... insulted you. I couldn't let him get away with that!" he explained himself and looked back at her blankly. Eleanor hesitated for a moment. "You shouldn't do that for me," she said. "You mustn't jeopardize your health just because a bighead like Anthony has a big mouth."

Elmo didn't know what to say. It was all well and good that she didn't want to be reminded of the weekend, but on the other hand she mustn't play the canine's actions down.

"Look, I really appreciate your concern, but what exactly did he say that made you attack him?" Eleanor asked.

"Well … basically he compared you with your mother and called you a slut," the rat boy answered meekly. The words hit her like lightning. Eleanor's face turned pale and she gazed into space. "That filthy jerk …," she whispered.

"Do you understand me now?" Elmo asked. Eleanor didn't respond, but kept mumbling, "He doesn't even know my mother, how can he – Maybe he sent Drake spying … "

"It's possible …," Elmo halfheartedly agreed. He didn't want to set her on the wrong track.

"No, really, he's been sticking to my heels lately. Oh, how I would like to give him a proper talking to!" The rat girl irritatedly pulled out a tuft of grass.

"Eleanor, no, it's no use …," Elmo argued.

"Why not?" she retorted defiantly. Her eyes flashed.

"You'll risk your free time! Gee, I don't know yet how to tell my parents ..." The rat boy looked away and scratched his nose.

"What do you mean?" Eleanor furled her eyebrows. Elmo sighed and went on, "Mr. Kingsley put me in detention."

"No!" The girl's jaw dropped.

"It's true. What I want to say: don't even think about starting a fight. Don't be like me," he advised her and added a crooked smile. Silence fell between them and was only broken by a soft breeze sweeping over the lawn. Finally, Elmo cleared his throat. "Uh, how are you, anway? How is your training coming along?" He thought it was better to change the topic of conversation.

"I'm okay, I guess. I've been practicing the rest of the day, especially somersaults. And I succeeded," Eleanor told him proudly. "Well, once." She blushed.

"That's great!" her friend exclaimed.

"Yes, but I'm not good enough to keep up with the jocks," she sighed and looked at her feet absentmindedly. Luckily they didn't hurt that much today.

"Well, you don't have to, as long as your effort shows. Think of it as an exam," Elmo said.

"You're right, but it's quite a bit to ask from someone who never exercised." She still didn't meet his eyes and tapped her toes carefully.

"Eleanor, do you really want it?"

The rat girl looked up. "I do ..."

"But?"

"No 'but'! I just don't feel prepared," she admitted. Who could possibly expect her to make such enormous progress in such a short time? Okay, the jury and all those who wanted to see the new team perform.

"The tryouts are next Friday. But believe me, you can make it! Just keep on practicing, but don't forget to allow yourself to rest. And the most important thing: believe in yourself ! And smile! Don't forget to smile. Just imagine you're a positron." He grinned. Eleanor started to laugh so hard that she had to clutch her sides.

"I thought cheerleaders had to smile all the time, so that pun crossed my mind," Elmo chuckled, shrugging.

Eleanor was still laughing when she said, "True, but to compare that with positrons is a little -"

"Nerdy?" he concluded for her. "Thanks, that's my middle name." Eleanor dried her tears of laughter. He was so funny. And somehow he always managed to put a smile on her face.

"Thank you for your encouragement," she said. "I am so happy to have you as my friend."

"You're welcome. And thank you for the compliment," Elmo smiled. It made him happy that he was a source of comfort and that he could make her forget the events of the past 48 hours temporarily.

"Will you be there?" The rat girl suddenly asked.

Elmo grinned even more. "Of course! I wanna see you give them hell!"

At 3 pm, Elmo stood waiting in front of the science lab. He had called his parents in order to inform them that he would be home late. However, he hadn't had the guts to tell them why. Instead, he had used an experiment as a pretense, which he was indeed really interested in and which he also intended to carry out. He wanted to know whether static electricity could be harnessed to power a light bulb. In case it went the way he envisioned it, it would mean a major scientific breakthrough. Unfortunately none of the teachers and students of the science club believed in him, first of all Mr. Kingsley, who would usually give his blessings to all of Elmo's ideas. It would take him a lot of persuading to obtain permission to use the lab.

He heard footsteps. Elmo pricked up his ears and scanned the corridor for the source of the sound. A silhouette came closer and turned out to be the person he did _not _want to spend the next hour with.

"Yo, shrimp, extra work! Woohoo! Turns you on, eh?" Anthony bawled out. Elmo decided that it was wise to keep his mouth shut.

"What? Did I just cause some embarrassment? Awww … I can see you blushing." Anthony bent over. "Must've been a moderate shock for you to be here. I'm surprised they didn't put you in an oxygen tent."

Elmo let it all bounce off, just like he was used to. He hoped that Mr. Kingsley would show up soon.

"Did you give Eleanor my regards?"

Elmo still refused to talk, but it was getting more and more difficult to do so. He had expected Anthony to taunt him, but he really had to control his temper this time.

"Hey, wonk! You there? I'm talking to you!" Anthony poked him. "Today she managed to save her skin, but when I catch her all by herself, I'll wipe the floor with her. Tell her that!"

Luckily, that very second, Mr. Kingsley appeared behind the corner. "I hope you've made your peace with each other?" he greeted the boys. He didn't seem to expect an answer, unlocked the door and let them in. After they had taken their seats – Elmo in the first row, Anthony in the last – Mr. Kingsley announced, "I would like to ask you to write a little essay in which you depict in what way you have misbehaved earlier today. You may start."

Elmo instantly started to write. First of all, he defined "injustice" and gave a detailed analysis of the situation in the hall to demonstrate that it had not been him who had "misbehaved". In order to do that, he had to reveal what was behind it, but Elmo didn't mention Eleanor directly or give away personal information. After all, he wanted to put right what had happened and didn't intend to impress his teacher with false apology.

After exactly one hour, Elmo put his pen aside and handed Mr. Kingsley the five pages he had written.

"Mr. Sputterspark, this is not about who wrote more. A short essay would have been fine," the teacher said, obviously not happy that he had to read what his best student had produced.

"Take your time when reading it," Elmo called on him. "So you will get the message." The rat boy turned on his heels, leaving the puzzled Mr. Kingsley and Anthony behind.

Eleanor was sitting on the carpet in a damn nasty position, biting her lips. She was doing the splits, or at least trying to, something she just couldn't get right. No matter what she tried, she just couldn't straddle any further. Suddenly, as if somebody wanted to release her, the phone rang. Relieved, she slowly got up and answered it.

"Hello?" she asked.

"Hey Eleanor. This is Elmo."

"Oh, hi. I thought it might be … well, not you." She exhaled soundlessly. She was happy to find that it was not the police or the hospital. "Did it go well?" she wanted to know.

"Oh, it was easy," he answered. "We had to apologize for what we've done. I think I managed to clarify the situation. You should've seen his face when I handed him my essay!" the rat boy remarked merrily.

"I can just imagine," Eleanor laughed.

"I really hope Mr. Kingsley will get what I mean," Elmo went on, now sounding a bit thoughtful.

"What do you mean?" she inquired.

"Well, sometimes actions derive from reasons that one would classify as wrong first, but which, upon closer reflection, have to be labeled as right," Elmo explained matter-of-factly.

"Okay ..." Eleanor didn't know what else to say. Maybe she got him all wrong, but did he really think it was okay to start a fight after all? Hadn't he said the exact opposite earlier?

"What do you say?" he asked curiously after a few more seconds.

"I don't know ... If you think it was right …," the rat girl mumbled.

"Of course I do!" Elmo burst out. She could perfectly imagine him pouting over her unsatisfying reply. He could be so stubborn.

"So you think letting your fists speak is a good thing to do?" she speculated skeptically.

"'Good' is not what I'd call it, but there are times when you should go with your gut, I guess. It can make you surpass yourself. Besides ..." Elmo faltered.

"Yes?"

"Besides ... I did that to show Anthony a lesson. He indicated that you should watch out," the rat boy told her.

Again, Eleanor fell silent for a moment. "Wow … I mean, I understand what you were aiming at now. And also wow because ..." She couldn't finish the sentence. So Anthony was still not refraining from threatening her. Eleanor really had to be careful. "But nevertheless, Elmo: I don't want you to look after me," she pointed out.

"But-"

"Elmo, I know my self-confidence regarding dealing with peers is virtually non-existent, but let me remind you that it's my problem, not yours. I don't want you to risk your neck for me."

"Eleanor …," Elmo tried again.

"No, Elmo. Please." Was it really so hard to understand?

"Very well," he gave in involuntarily. "I'll hold myself back, I promise. Okay?"

"Good." Eleanor was not quite sure what she was to think of his promise. But she'd give him a chance. "I'm sorry, but I gotta get back to torturing myself," the girl sighed.

"Ouch!" Elmo chuckled. "Alright, have fun. Will I see you tomorrow?"

"Yes. I promise to be there in time." Eleanor nodded, as if to assure herself.

"Fine!" Elmo said genially. "See you tomorrow then!"

"Yeah, see you." Eleanor put down the phone, her mind going back to what they had just talked about. It was nice of Elmo to be so caring, but it was not his job to protect her from inconveniences.

Eleanor stayed on the couch and let her mind wander. From Elmo to Anthony and … to her parents. She looked around the room and started to feel uncomfortable. Just what was she supposed to do? Was it right to suppress what she had experienced this past weekend? Did it do her mental health any good to just try to go on? Or was that the only opportunity in order to stay able to act? Eleanor knew that it was inevitable to face her parents and Anthony. But she also deemed that it was better not to spend too many thoughts on what they had done. Not now. Go with your gut. She had to distract herself. After all, the tryouts were just around the corner.


	20. Chapter 20

On the big day, Eleanor got up a lot earlier than usual. She hadn't slept well and felt absolutely whacked. She took a quick shower, almost skipped her breakfast and left the house one hour before her first class started in order to get ready and practice some more. Besides, she didn't want to stay home longer than necessary.

The schoolyard was deserted, just as the rat girl had expected. Eleanor did some jogging and returned to the seated stands afterwards to mentally revise what she had practiced. She performed the moves one last time, making two or three attempts here and there. She even managed to do the somersault, even though it turned out a bit shaky. Eleanor was in cheerful spirits now, confident that she could make it.

Classes seemed to last forever and Eleanor was getting more and more nervous. Time and again, she found herself wiggling her feet impatiently or playing with her pen. If it had been up to her, she would have skipped some time. No classes of course, but recesses were horrible, especially lunch break with all its aromatic temptations. But Eleanor bore up and picked a salad. She would treat herself to some ice cream later.

Shortly before the tryouts, Elmo and Eleanor met in front of the gym. He told her that Mr. Kingsley had obviously taken his essay seriously, for the rat boy had seen him, Anthony and his parents involved in a conversation in front of the teachers' lounge. The canine had looked rather abashed. Of course this didn't mean that the teachers would keep a wary eye on Anthony now. On the contrary: Elmo and Eleanor would probably have to be even more careful. But it was nevertheless relieving to know that Anthony was given a proper ticking-off.

Elmo wished her good luck and showed her his crossed fingers. He believed in her, and that made her very happy. She waved him goodbye and went to the locker room. Preena was standing in front of the door, poker-facedly handing her a cheerleader costume and a number, which was to be attached to it. It was plain white – a tight-fitting top, a knee-length pleated skirt and a bodysuit for underneath plus a hairbow. Eleanor had the "7", and even though she didn't believe in bad luck, she felt somewhat uneasy. She shook her head. There was no room for such thoughts now.

When the rat girl entered the gym, she was relieved to find most of the other girls just as nervous as herself. Quite a few of them already seemed to regret chancing their luck. Fortunately, Preena stepped in only a few moments later.

"Hi everyone!" she greeted the girls. She wore the school's official cheerleader costume in red and white with a blue bow in her hair. Written across her chest was the squad's name in blue with white edging: "St. Canard Sweethearts". Eleanor suppressed a laugh. What an incredibly stupid name! But what had she expected, considering that it had been Preena's own idea?

"You will be divided into groups of five girls each and show us some easy jumps and dance moves. The next step will be to combine some moves, jumps, tumblings, whatever you come up with in your group and present that. Last of all, we will study a short choreography all together. Any questions?" She didn't even wait for an answer. "Fine, then show us what you've got! Good luck!" she piped and showed the girls a big grin. She then attended to her list and called up the first five girls.

"Hey Eleanor!" The rat girl turned around. It had been foreseeable that there would be idiots among the girls, but why Celeste and Hannah? Eleanor noticed that they had the numbers "8" and "9" pinned to their costumes. So Preena aimed at kicking her out the easy way; she couldn't take the action herself after all, since there were teachers in the jury.

"Do you really think you can make it?" Hannah asked, frowning.

"Yeah, how are you supposed to do that? I bet your heavy brain is gonna knock you down!" Celeste mocked her. Eleanor tried not to listen and observed the other girls perform instead. They were not bad. It would be a tight squeeze.

"Let's see who's up next!" Preena suddenly said. Eleanor stood up when her name was read out loud. She had the feeling that Preena stressed every single syllable so that all of the attendees were reminded once more that the rat girl really wanted to give it a try.

"Okay, you girls already know what to expect," Preena announced. "Let's start with the Spread Eagle ..." Preena's whistle shrilled and the girls did as they were told. It started off well, Eleanor thought, but with every new move, Hannah and Celeste drew a little closer to her. Some of her movements turned out very wobbly and she hoped that at least the teachers wouldn't see her mistakes. At last, they were asked to do the somersault with support of two other girls. All eyes were on Eleanor, who tried to concentrate. Luckily, the girls to help her were not Hannah and Celeste.

"_Don't think too much. You can do it!"_ the voice in her head said eagerly. Eleanor gathered momentum – and ended up on her feet. Not good, but not bad either. She saw appreciative nodding from the jury, whereas Preena was crushing her with her gaze.

Now the candidates were given some time to think of a short array of moves. Fortunately, the other two girls in Eleanor's group were rather kind 11th-graders. Among the moves they had settled for was a Pop Cradle. One of the younger girls was the lightest and would thus be the flyer. Sadly, practicing together proved to be extremely difficult, for Hannah and Celeste pestered Eleanor again.

"Hey, do you think you can stop being a klutz?" the younger girls angrily remarked. They hadn't realized how Hannah and Celeste were hampering Eleanor. But she had no choice – she neither had the time nor the nerves to complain.

When it was her group's turn, the other girls moaned in worry. Eleanor had to think of a possibility to get out of the way of Preena's friends. It went well at first, but before she knew what was happening, Celeste and Hannah were sticking to her heels again. Eleanor had to react, so she just stuck out her ellbows and made it look like this was part of her moves. And it worked: Preena's friends stepped back.

When they got ready to perform the Pop Cradle, Eleanor expected another attack, but just stiffened and clenched her teeth as her bum got pinched. The stunt went smoothly and the rat girl glanced around to see Hannah and Celeste biting their lips.

Studying the choreography wasn't that difficult. The cheer that accompanied it was pretty dumb, but Eleanor didn't care much. She was just glad that she hadn't made a complete fool of herself. The performance worked out nicely, since the group involved all the girls. After a few minutes, it was over and Eleanor sat down on the floor tiredly, but happily at the same time. The last announcements were made. According to Preena, the members of the new squad would be made known in one hour.

"How did it go?" Elmo asked Eleanor when she stepped out of the locker room. He was even more excited than her, it seemed.

"I think I did okay," the girl assumed and smiled. She really meant it. The two rodents joined the other students in front of the gym. Over time, more and more people came, greeted their friends with hugs and consoled those who shed tears. After exactly one hour, the door opened and Preena appeared, the highly coveted list in her hands.

"The following girls made it into the squad," she began and read out the numbers. With every new one, cries of victory could be heard and tears of joy could be seen, but Eleanor didn't pay much attention to what was happening around her yet. The two younger girls of her group had made it as well.

"And last of all …," Preena looked at the crowd meaningfully. "No. 29! Congrats and welcome to all the new members. And to all those who didn't make it …," She shrugged and grinned stiffly before leaving her classmates alone again. Eleanor couldn't help but feel disappointed. All her efforts ... in vain.

"Come on, let's go," she said to Elmo and tried a pseudo-indifferent smile. "I need some ice cream now." But the door opened again and another member of the jury, a teacher, stepped out.

"We have one further announcement to make," she said. "We've discussed a little longer and came to the conclusion that we would like to admit one more candidate." She turned towards the door, a scowl creeping across her face. Preena's furious babbling could be heard from inside the gym. The teacher smirked and turned around again.

"Welcome to the squad, No. 7!" she said and smiled at Eleanor consently. The rat girl's jaw dropped. Before the words had completely sunken in, Elmo grabbed her arm and cheered, "You're in! Congratulations!"

"Wow!" was all she could phrase. She had passed the test! Eleanor imagined Preena, snorting with rage, and grinned even more. It was a sublime feeling to have put her in her place. From now on, the rat girl decided, 7 would be her lucky number.

Eleanor would have loved if her parents had been there. Together, peacefully. But it would never be like this again, and the thought tempered her delight. But she took comfort from the fact that she could give her mother a surprise. She said goodbye to Elmo, not without having thanked him for his help and support, and wished him a nice weekend. The rat girl then headed off for the hospital, hoping that her mother was feeling better.

It was remarkable how Eleanor's attitude towards her parents had changed. What had been unconditional admiration had turned into sheer horror. What had been antipathy had given way to understanding. Obviously, it was indeed possible that some persons one was familiar with, even family members, never showed their true colors. Or sometimes, they did so too late. But now Eleanor was looking forward to seeing her mother – for the first time in years. On her way to the hospital, the girl bought some flowers. Lilies and white roses, her mother's favorites.

Before entering her mother's room, Eleanor rearranged the leaves and knocked on the door. She opened it – and was faced with an empty room. Confused, she double-checked the room number. Had her mother been relocated? She closed the door again and went to the nurses' lounge. A chubby duck was sitting inside, a telephone receiver pressed to her ear. When she hung up and noticed Eleanor standing in the doorframe, she asked, "Can I help you?"

"Yes, I'm looking for Mrs. Carolyn Johansson. I'm her daughter, Eleanor," she introduced herself.

"Oh, good. I've been trying to call you the whole day."

"I was at school," the girl explained herself. "Is something wrong with my mother?"

"Well, yes. You will not find your mother here," the duck said calmly and fixed her gaze on Eleanor.

"Where is she, then?" She snapped. She was starting to get tired of this guessing game. Silence fell, during which the duck avoided looking at her. Eventually, the nurse took a deep breath.

"I'm sorry, my dear. Your mother passed away this morning."

Eleanor's heart stopped for a moment. "No …," she breathed.

"My deepest condolences," the nurse added and looked at the rat girl condolingly.

"How -?"

"She succumbed to internal injuries."

"Internal injuries?" Eleanor repeated. "I didn't know -" She started to tremble. Anger was boiling up in her chest. "Why, WHY has no one ever told me that?" Her sudden outburst startled the nurse. She looked at Eleanor apologetically, and the girl stared back, tears filling her eyes. She had underestimated her mother's state of health. The message sapped all her energy, the strength and bliss she had felt. She fell down on her knees, her hands embracing the sterns of the flowers tightly, the tears flowing. The thorns of the roses tore up Eleanor's skin.

She had lost her mother, had lost her to her mad father, without being able to say goodbye.

The autopsy had revealed that Carolyn Johansson had had internal bleedings in her stomach, a result from the blows and punches her husband had inflicted on her and contusions caused by his weight. The doctors had tried to give her medical treatment, but the bleedings had kept recurring so that the wounds hadn't healed. Eleanor was sceptical towards the medical finding. To her, the doctors had made a misdiagnosis, they had misinterpreted the radiographs and had administered the wrong medicine. It was arrogant of her to assume that, and she was well aware of it, but Eleanor knew quite a lot about human medicine and thus dared to partly blame the doctors for her mother's death.

It was mid-October and still fairly warm when Carolyn Johansson was laid to rest. The leaves had begun to change their colors and appeared in a bright yellow, red and brown. Some of the trees cast their leaves, which danced in the softly blowing breeze before covering the ground and graves. The sun was shining.

A small group of people dressed in black slowly walked along the paved path. Among them were only Carolyn's closest friends and, right behind the reverend and the casket-bearers, Eleanor and Elmo. When she had inform him about her loss, he had insisted that she'd stay at his place. The Sputtersparks were looking after her kindly, but kept their expression of sympathy within a limit, which did Eleanor good. Right now she didn't need people who exceedingly showed her how much they pitied her.

The funeral guests stopped in front of the grave and listened to the sermon. It had been a real torture for Eleanor to discuss the realization of the funeral. Not so much because she had shouldered it alone, no, but mostly because she hadn't been able to think of many positive aspects that characterized her mother. In the end, she had reminded herself of her childhood – a time when their relationship had been unburdened and affectionate.

The funeral guests prayed the Lord's Prayer, but Eleanor's voice failed her. She started to weep bitterly, clasping her hands so tightly that her knuckles turned white. The casket was lowered, accompanied with the sound of the church bells.

"Ashes to ashes, dust to dust." It was a terrible moment for Eleanor when she stepped away from the others and towards the edge of the grave. She scooped some earth onto the shovel – once, twice, thrice – and took a white rose. Now she was standing there indecisively, not knowing what to do. Eleanor wanted to say something that her mother could take along. But instead she twiddled with the rose.

"Mom," she began. She was at a loss for words. None of the sayings that crossed her mind seemed right. What was wrong with her? Why couldn't she say goodbye?

"Mom," she said again. A lump formed in her throat. She bit her lips, pressed the rose to her chest and started to shake uncontrollably, panting for breath.

"MOM!" Eleanor doubled up. She couldn't hold herself back, screamed her mind to the heavens. She heard Elmo's voice from far way. He put his arms around her protectively and talked to her soothingly.

Only now did the rat girl realize what her mother had meant to her. But it was too late. She was gone and would never return.

_Author's Note: Sorry for this rather sad update, I really don't want to spoil your holiday season. The next chapter will be up soon. Promise!_


	21. Chapter 21

**Assignment #2: Implementation – Bear the consequences**

October turned into November, and soon enough the last month of the year had begun. December came with a force that literally knocked St. Canard off its feet. Heavy loads of snow fell from the steel-gray sky and covered the city. It hadn't been as cold as this in a long time and the driving public regularly experienced a total gridlock. The streets and sidewalks had turned into slippery slides and news items that involved accidents were on a daily basis.

_The hospitals must be busy_, Elmo thought matter-of-factly as he was watching the snowflakes fall. The funeral of Eleanor's mother dated two months back and he knew that the situation was still giving her a hard time. Understandably enough. She did seem to have absorbed the loss and was also staying at her place again, yet he hadn't seen her distinctly happy since then. She spent a lot of time on the cheerleader training, which ran surprisingly smoothly. Maybe the spark of decency that inhered Preena had spoken up and told her to leave the rat girl alone? There hadn't been any adverse events in the past weeks, which unsettled Elmo a little. Usually, the bullies at school didn't give a damn about feelings. Whether the death of a relative made an exception … well, such a situation hadn't occurred yet. Elmo hoped that Eleanor was not pestered. It was bad enough that the news of her family situation got around among the students.

Just when he realized that one of the lights of the outdoor decoration wasn't on, his mother entered the kitchen with a large cardboard box in her arms. Groaning, she heaved the load onto the table, which creaked alarmingly.

"What's that?" Elmo asked, although he had an idea.

"Christmas tree decoration," Mrs. Sputterspark answered and wiped some dust off her hand.

"Isn't it a bit early?" He frowned sceptically. He had the feeling that his mother accumulated more and more over the years. Soon they could decorate two trees.

"Keep in mind that the holidays are just around the corner! All of this must be dusted off before then," she said and took a terrycloth out of her apron's pocket.

"Let me guess. That's my job?" Elmo assumed. His mother nodded and handed him the cloth, grinning.

"Awesome, thank you," he murmured. He never complained when his parents asked him to do something, but dusting and polishing was not his cup of tea.

"Well, you do want a nice Christmas dinner and a few presents, don't you?" she teased him and kissed his cheek.

"Okay, okay!" Elmo smiled. "But don't be surprised to see me with a runny nose later." Upon that, Mrs. Sputterspark just shrugged, still grinning, and left the room, whistling Christmas carols. After a while, she returned with two cups of tea and some cookies. "Say, how is Eleanor doing?"

"Well, 'good' would be lying," he replied. Irma just nodded, knowing what he meant, and dipped a gingerbread in her tea. "It will take her some more time to get over it. Her home reminds her of what happened after all. But what is she supposed to do? She doesn't want to stay with us all the time, and I can't blame her for that," Elmo said.

"She's always welcome and she knows that, right?" Irma objected. He could see it in her eyes that if it was her decision, she'd gingerly pressure the girl into it.

"Yes, but imagine how you'd feel if relatively unfamiliar people constantly invited you over just so you're not alone," he had his mother consider. She kept silent, looking thoughtful, and took another cookie. "I have to admit, though, that I don't have any other idea as to how to bring her joy," Elmo pondered and put the cloth aside. "She doesn't give me any indication. And it hurts me to see her like this."

"Why don't you just ask her if she wants to spend Christmas with us?" Mrs. Sputterspark suggested.

"Mom, I just rejected that idea! Don't you think she might cop the needle?" He perked his eyebrows up. He didn't believe that Eleanor would like the idea.

"Give it a try. You won't get anything worse than a 'no' in response," Irma answered and took a sip of her tea. She was right.

"Okay, I will ask her tomorrow. Provided that we aren't snowed off again," Elmo added, glancing out of the window. It was snowing even more now and if it stayed like this, classes would be cancelled again. He examined the light bulb once more, which was defenselessly exposed to the weather. He would fix it soon, but the poor thing would have to wait a little longer. He wasn't finished polishing the decoration yet.

When he woke up the next morning, classes were indeed cancelled, just as Elmo had expected. He had to admit that he was glad about it. Then again, he didn't know when he would see Eleanor again. After all, he wanted to submit his mother's proposal to her personally. So he decided that he would just come to see her at home.

After lunch, Elmo put on his warmest clothes as well as his scarf, hat and gloves and left the house. While riding the bus, he remembered that he hadn't made sure that Eleanor was home. So when he was standing in front of her door, ringing the bell, he searched for signs of life. The house was festively decorated, and very accurately at that. It didn't surprise him, for it was an act of compensation. Eleanor was home alone, but she made it look like her parents were still there.

He felt great relief when the door was opened. But the person to open it was not his friend, but a little rat girl, approximately elementary school age. Taken aback, he stared at the child before scrutinizing the name plate next to the door. "Johansson", it read. But as far as he could remember, Eleanor had never mentioned having a sister. Was it a new family living here, who had just forgotten to replace the name plate? Had Eleanor been able to sell her house and move that quickly?

The rat boy's confusion vanished when he heard a familiar voice call, "Annie, who is at the door?"

"A boy," the rat girl named Annie called back, not averting her bright blue eyes from him.

"A boy?" the other voice repeated and its owner stepped around the corner. Eleanor. "Hi Elmo! Nice to see you!" She let him in, and after closing the door she added, "Don't you want to introduce yourself?"

Elmo, assuming she meant him, opened his mouth to make up for his act of impoliteness, but instead the child sputtered, "Hello, I'm Annie Porter and I'm 6 years old and I live next door!"

"Hello Annie!" Elmo answered, smiling, and bent down to shake her hand. "I'm Elmo. It's a pleasure to meet you."

"Are you Eleanor's boyfriend?" Annie asked right away. The rat boy looked at Eleanor, who was smiling blissfully at the little girl.

"Well ... I'm _a_ friend of Eleanor," he said reluctantly, trying to put the emphasis just right so that she would understand him correctly. The girl's eyes widened. She had obviously overheard the "a".

"Wow!" she crowed. "Do you make out?"

"Annie!" Eleanor burst out. "Where did you learn such a word?"

"School," Annie explained herself and shrugged, as though it was normal to pick up this kind of vocabulary that early. "Also, didn't you say you love him?"

"Well, uh … I … I didn't mean it the way you understood it," Eleanor stuttered, her cheeks flushing. She glanced up at Elmo. He, too, had blushed with shame. "Look, there's a big difference. You can 'love' someone and you can '_love_' someone," the female teenager defined, gesturing wildly as she did so. "Your Mommy and Daddy love each other, romantically. But I love … like Elmo ... as a friend."

"But I don't see a difference!" Annie exclaimed and crossed her small arms in front of her chest.

"You'll see what I mean when you're older." Eleanor ruffled the girl's blonde hair.

"Why does everybody say that? That's not fair, I'm not stupid!" she defended herself and bounced back into the kitchen, singing loud and flat. The little girl was too adorable, Elmo thought.

"Mr. and Mrs. Porter are downtown buying Christmas presents and I offered them to look after her so she doesn't realize that Santa Claus doesn't exist," Eleanor whispered and added a little louder, "We're baking cookies. Would you like to join us?"

"Sure!" the rat boy agreed, took of his jacket, scarf, hat and gloves and entered the spacious, cosy kitchen. Christmas carols could be heard from the radio on the countertop and the table was piled with baking ingredients and utensils. Dough was rolled out on the surface, which Annie was busy snacking on.

"Dearie, don't eat too much. You might get a tummyache," Eleanor reminded her. The girl obeyed and drew back her hands.

"May I cut out the cookies, then?" she asked and flipped the tin baking forms around. One or two of them landed on the floor.

"Of course, but don't turn the kitchen into a greater mess than it already is," Eleanor joked. Annie playfully stuck out her tongue and started cutting out stars. Her busily moving hands distracted Elmo. Kids were wonderful. He thought of the children in the street he sometimes watched when he took a break from studying.

"Which cookies would you like to bake? We're currently making cinnamon stars, almond cookies are in the oven …," Eleanor listed. Elmo looked at her. He had just realized that she had become even thinner. In school she wrapped up in thick woolen pullovers, but here, in casual clothes, it caught his eye. She truly tried her best to take her mind off her loss and even up what was gone, but it was shocking how much she neglected herself.

"What's this? 'Pepper cakes'?" Elmo inquired, surveying the book on the table.

"_Pepparkakor_," Eleanor corrected him. "Swedish cookies. They're comparable to gingerbread."

"Oh, that sounds good!" The rat boy nodded. "You know, ever since you agreed to teach me some Swedish one day, I've been looking forward to getting to know more about your cultural background. Even if it's just baking."

Eleanor giggled. "Well, then let us not waste time. I think our missy is nearly finished with the stars." She smiled at Annie and the girl smiled back.

"Eleanor, um … I've actually come for a reason," Elmo remarked after some time to raise the subject he wanted to address. Eleanor sat down next to him and supported her head with her hands. She appeared incredibly tired in the light that the ceiling lamp cast on her face.

"Fire away," she said and indicated to Annie to crawl into her lap. This way, they kinda looked like mother and daughter. The two female rats expectantly eyed Elmo.

"So, um ... my mother considered ... I mean .. we considered that-"

"Don't keep us in suspense!" Annie bounced up and down on Eleanor's knees. She gently told her to be quiet and the girl held still.

"- we would like to invite you over for Christmas," Elmo finished the sentence. Eleanor's expression did not alter. She seemed to have expected something like this, and so she said, "That's really kind of you and your parents and I appreciate that. But Christmas is a family affair and I don't belong to your family."

"Do you really prefer staying here? Alone?" he retorted and instantly regretted it, for his dear friend promptly looked hurt. She looked away and pulled Annie into a close hug.

"Thank you, but I can't accept your invitation," Eleanor quietly repeated and buried her nose in Annie's hair. There was an awkward pause. Only Annie moved. She alternately looked at both teenagers.

"Why not?" she finally broke the silence with her childlike innocence. They hadn't expected her to chime in and stared at her. But the little rat just fed them with a defiant gaze.

"Everybody needs a Mommy and Daddy on Christmas," she explained in a meaningful tone. "And since your Mommy and Daddy are not here, you two can celebrate together!"

If possible, Eleanor looked even more sheepish. Being enlightened about the importance of family on Christmas by a little child, of all persons, didn't leave her unmoved. She cradled the girl and closed her eyes. "You're so clever, dearie. If you say so, I can't say no."

"Word! Otherwise I'll be really sad!" Annie mock-pouted.

"All right," Eleanor chuckled and looked up at Elmo again.

"Awesome!" He smiled at both his friend and Annie. She was indeed very bright, seeing that she must have realized how much he had hoped to convince Eleanor. His notion was confirmed when the little girl gave him a wink. "Thank you," Elmo whispered to Annie on the quiet while Eleanor was checking the cookies in the oven.

"No problem," she whispered back. "I like you, you know? Please make Eleanor smile again."

Elmo beamed at her. Kids often savvied what was going on, more than we gave them credit for. And even more so, it seemed, when our self-reflection failed us.

The afternoon before Christmas Eve, Eleanor was sitting in the living room and wrapping presents. She knew that the Sputtersparks didn't expect anything, but she felt obligated to show her gratitude. After hours of pondering, she had decided to give each of the three a book with a personal dedication. It had been quite the task to find the right words to describe how thankful she was.

After she had put the presents into her bag, Eleanor closely eyed the room. She had to admit that it was hard to leave the house behind – and yet incredibly easy. So far, the rat girl had never spent Christmas outside her family. And even though the meaning of the holidays had adopted a more and more bitter taste over the years, the tradition was still important to her. Even though the family situation had been tense, even though her father had had to work, even though her mother hadn't been able to do the housecleaning or prepare dinner without her help – right now Eleanor dearly wished to have her mother and her father – her old father – around. She would visit her mother. But her father's waiting would be in vain. Eleanor didn't want anything to do with him. She had stopped counting the times she had cried over him, while at the same time asking herself why she even did that. She probably hadn't accepted yet that he had changed. He was not the father she had once known and loved. He was a murderer. The thought was not quite tangible, but any other description didn't seem right to Eleanor any further.

Relieved, the rat girl discerned the sound of the door bell. She collected her things, turned off the light and pondered whether to take Murphy with her because after all, he had always been by her side when she slept. He made her feel safe and she liked to believe that the good in her father lived on in her teddy bear. But – and the thought hurt the little girl inside her that longed for a safe support and didn't want to deal with life alone – she needed to grow up. Besides, she had also spent the other nights at Elmo's house without him. Her friend had represented Murphy in some way and he would do it again. Anytime. Thus Eleanor decided to merely say the bear goodbye and strapped her bag on. It was freezing terribly, so she wrapped herself up and glanced at the dark house one last time before following Elmo down the driveway.

After dinner, Eleanor and Elmo went upstairs to his room and carried on talking. Completely immersed in it, they didn't notice how quickly the hours passed. It was not until Eleanor tilted her head back to overcome the emergence of a stiff neck that they looked at the clock. It was past 2 am.

"We should go to bed," she suggested. "I mean, we don't want to let your parents do all the work alone tomorrow, right?"

"Well, you know that if it was up to them, you wouldn't lift a finger. You're our guest," Elmo responded.

"Sure," Eleanor sighed. "But you know my attitude."

The rat boy showed her his lopsided smile. "I guess I don't have the slightest chance to break your will?"

"Exactly," the girl chuckled and stood up in order to go to the bathroom.

After both of them had changed, Eleanor's guilty conscience piped up again. She didn't want Elmo to sleep on the floor again. It was his room and his privilege to claim the bed.

"You don't have to do that," she said while he was preparing the mattress. Elmo paused for a moment.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"Let me sleep on the mattress," the rat girl offered him. "Just because I'm a girl you don't have to treat me so generously."

"Do you want me to treat you all rudely and impolitely?" he teased her. Eleanor rolled her eyes.

" You know what I mean," she said through clenched teeth.

"Okay, okay," he sighed, smiling. "But, well … you know _my_ attitude as well."

With these words, he sat down as if to make unambiguously clear that the mattress was his sleeping accomodation, not hers. She should have known better. There was no point in telling Elmo that she felt overchallenged with the Sputtersparks' hospitality. So she slipped in his bed and lay down, facing him. The teenagers looked at each other for a while without saying a word until they realized the uselessness of their doing.

"Good night, Elmo," Eleanor whispered and turned off the light.

"Good night, Eleanor," he replied. A few minutes later, she could hear the soft rhythm of his breathing. But the rat girl was kept busy thinking. She did not regret having decided for staying at the Sputtersparks', but at the moment she devoutly wished to be treated normally. At least Elmo could do her the favor.

The next morning, Elmo was the first to wake up. He sat up, straightened himself up and slowly got to his feet to walk over to the window. The neighborhood looked like it was coated with icing, similar to a gingerbread village, and the sky was blue. A perfect Christmas Eve was ahead.

He turned around again to face the slumbering Eleanor. She held his pillow in a tight clutch. He didn't want to wake her yet, he would help his parents until she got up herself. Secretly, he knew that it was not fair, but Elmo was just as stubborn as her. He just hoped that she wouldn't react too harshly.

Just as he had expected, it was not long until Eleanor joined them. She seemed somewhat offended that no one had cared to wake her, but didn't let it show in front of Mr. and Mrs. Sputterspark. Elmo, however, had to endure her whim. Just when they had started decorating the tree, she whispered to him, "So you thought that you could keep me from helping you, eh?"

"I just wanted you to be well rested, that's all" he defended himself. It was the truth, she knew it, but Eleanor didn't give up like that. On the contrary, she shot back, "That was unfair, Elmo. I said I wanted to help. And what did you do? You ignored me!"

She let fall a red Christmas ball, which luckily survived the drop on the wooden floor. Elmo didn't dare to respond. It had not been a taunt from her, he had judged that from her tone. She was, indeed, downright angry. He hadn't meant to do that and he was sorry. He didn't want her to be upset. After all, he had promised Annie to bring back "the old Eleanor". But it was not easy when she took so small things personally. Elmo had to resolve the conflict quickly, thus he inquired when she intended to go to the cemetery.

"I dunno. I let you decide," she mumbled.

"You don't have to do that, Eleanor," the rat boy said solicitously. All of a sudden, Eleanor plunked down the tinsel she had just wanted to put on the tree.

"And you don't care what I have to do!" she hissed and sulkily crossed the arms in front of her chest. Perplexed, Elmo opened his mouth to respond, but she was quicker. "I said I don't need to sleep late. What do you do? You let me sleep, hoping that I wake up late enough. I don't want to hear that goody-goody talk anymore. 'Be my guest!', 'Let me do that for you!' ... Don't you get it? I _need_activity! I _need_ to do something or I'll go crazy!"

Elmo had not been prepared for such an outburst. He swallowed and uneasily fumbled with the hook of the Christmas ball he held in his hands. He and his parents had wanted to fix a nice and enjoyable Christmas for Eleanor, but obviously they had meant it too well. She must feel like a pampered child, wrapped up in cotton wool, unable to act without help.

"Please forgive us for being so overprotective." Elmo slowly let the Christmas ball rotate in his hands and observed the unchanging position of the highlight on the polished surface. Although Eleanor had given him an earful, he was glad that they had talked about it. She had opened his eyes. "I guess we've been a bit overzealous and haven't realized what you really need," he added.

"That's not all, Elmo. In a sense, you have tried to replace my family. Or at least so it seemed. I hope that was not your intention," Eleanor went on.

"No," Elmo answered. "We didn't want that. You mustn't forget your parents. They are a part of you and they'll always be. We can't change that and it would be cruel to try so."

Eleanor's features visibly softened. She lowered her head. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have snapped like that," she said upon seeing Elmo's sour expression.

"It's okay. I think I begin to understand you. And I promise you to be a bit more attentive from now on," he assured her. It dawned on him that he had already made this promise earlier and he felt ashamed for breaking it. He put the Christmas ball aside and said to his friend, "Do you … believe me?"

The rat girl didn't lift her head yet. Did she recall the promise? "I would like to. But first of all, please bear in mind that I'm referring to _you_ here, Elmo, not your parents. Don't hold it against me, but I let them get away with their attempts to cocker me. It's in their parental nature." Eleanor looked at him now. "As for you, Elmo: Please give me some space. I don't want you to take me by the hand all the time."

"Good." The rat boy nodded. "But there's one more thing I need to know."

"What is it?" Eleanor asked calmly, but not without lifting her eyebrows.

"When would you like to visit your mother?" he repeated softly.

"Oh!" the girl exclaimed. "Um … in the late afternoon. Would that be okay?"

"Sure!" Elmo replied and smiled benignly.

"That would include going to church, though," Eleanor remarked sheepishly. Hopefully that wasn't too much to ask for. But once again, Elmo's smile proved her wrong.

"No problem. If you want me respectively us to come along, we'll do that." He didn't want to provoke her again. But Eleanor whispered, "I'd like you to." A slight brush emerged on her cheeks and put an extra emphasis on the timidity that inhered her request.

"Fine. I'll talk to my parents about it," Elmo said and rushed out of the room, not without sending an encouraging smile her way. Eleanor did him the biggest favor she could do him. She smiled back at him dearly.

The setting sun bathed the cemetery in a warm orange light as Eleanor, Elmo and his parents walked along the path that led to Carolyn's grave. In retrospect, the rat girl had to admit that attending the service hadn't been as soothing as she had hoped. The anticipation in the children's eyes, the stressed but happy parents who had probably run last minute errands in the morning, the elderly – all this had reminded her of last year. Going to church had, like everything on Christmas, turned into an expedient to bring the family together over the years, but it had been okay with Eleanor as long as she had both her parents around. Now she was celebrating Christmas with people who neither were strangers nor familiar enough to spend the holidays with them. As a consequence, Eleanor once again got the feeling that it wasn't right. That it had been wrong to decide for staying with the Sputtersparks. But then again, what would she have done at home?

The floral wreaths on the grave were wilted. Eleanor put down a new bouquet and lowered her head to whisper the Lord's Payer. "Merry Christmas, Mom," she added and wiped away a single tear.

On their way home, they paused every now and then to exchange good wishes and a few words. It was wonderful to see how everyone seemed to forget their sorrows for a few days. Eleanor loved the winter. Nothing illustrated the end and a new beginning as appropriately as this season did. The old year was drawing to a close, with all its worries. The beginning of the new year would be characterized by some more tension and stress due to the final exams, but in June they would finally be free. The rat girl was greatly looking forward to graduating and the start of her studies, to transitioning into an environment that she expected a more respectful treatment from. Maybe she'd eventually make some more friends. However, the friendship with Elmo would be the most important, even if their ways separated. She would ask him which universities he planned to apply for at a suitable opportunity.

Dinner was, as always, delicious. Afterwards, the family and their guest stayed at the dining room table to talk. Among the topics of conversation was guessing what each of them would get.

"I foresee a new cookbook," Irma said and drew the size of an imaginary book in the air. Everyone burst out laughing when she estimated the thickness, for the space between her thumb and her forefinger was enormous. As good as the talking and laughing did her, Eleanor got tired after a few hours and rose from her seat as soon as the first yawn escaped her. She thanked Elmo and his parents for the great day and went upstairs to get ready for bed. He wanted to stay with his folks a little longer and that was alright with her, since her good mood caused her to not change the room as usual in order to get undressed. The rat girl hummed cheerfully while brushing her teeth and gargled a medley of her favorite Christmas carols afterwards. Back in Elmo's room, she sat down on the bed and put the seam of his blanket under her feet. The light, however, was left on. She was not sure whether to wait for him or not. So far, they had always gone to bed together. Then again, she had said that she was tired and wanted to sleep. And yet she had the feeling that she wouldn't be able to sleep a wink without him. His presence made her feel unspeakably secure. But what was Eleanor supposed to do? She couldn't go back and ask him to come upstairs. Elmo would guide her back to his room, yes, but his parents would probably get an odd impression of her. And then? He would sit down next to her and wait for her to fall asleep. That notion was appealing to her. She developed the thought a bit further. Maybe he would take her hand again …

"You're still awake?" There he was, the tie in his hand, looking quite surprised.

"Yes. I was asking myself when you'd come," the rat girl answered, blushing.

"You've been waiting for me? I thought you were tired." He paused to think for a second. "Is something wrong?" he asked in a concerned voice and sat down on the edge of the bed.

"No, everything's fine," Eleanor answered and wrapped her arms around her legs. "I have no idea why I can't sleep." That was a lie, but she didn't dare to tell Elmo the truth. She looked in his dark eyes. He had once again put on his fatherly expression, but this time she didn't care. She wanted his attention. It gave her a comforting feeling. Eleanor really liked this boy. He was a wonderful friend. She could hug him without feeling shy, they could sleep in the same room without her having to worry that he would try to ... She didn't want to follow through the thought. Anyway, he was a good-hearted young man through and through who had everyone's best interests at heart.

"I'll be back in a minute," Elmo told her and left the room. Eleanor patiently waited for him to return and wish her a good night. He turned off the light before she could say the same. The rat girl lay back and closed her eyes, eagerly trying to lead her thoughts away from him.


	22. Chapter 22

It was in the dead of night when the rat girl woke up. The snow outside in the garden was softly illuminated by the moon and cast a cool but pretty light on the walls and the floor. Eleanor sat up. Her head was aching a bit, but that wasn't the reason for her early awakening. She turned to her left and surveyed Elmo, who was sound asleep. His hair was tousled and his blanket was askew, so that he was lying there half-uncovered. He must have had a restless sleep. Eleanor slipped out of the bed, knelt down beside him and fixed the blanket. She believed to see a thankful smile flash over his face and a thought crossed her mind: He had given her so much, so it was about time to return the favor. She lifted his blanket and lay down right beside him. His steady breath tickled her face. It felt good to be so close to him, so the rat girl cozied up a little more and took his hands. Elmo seemed to feel her touch, he was obviously smiling now. He even snuggled up to her and sighed quietly. His blissful expression made Eleanor unspeakably happy and she suddenly felt the desire to give him more. She bent over him, pursed her lips and -

"Eleanor, wake up!"

"Huh?" The girl opened her eyes, rubbed them and yawned extensively. "What's going on?" she muttered and squinted against the sunlight.

"Rise and shine! Merry Christmas!" the voice sounded again. Elmo. Still confused, Eleanor took her glasses from the nightstand and put them on. Hold it ... from the nightstand? The last thing she remembered vaguely was lying next to Elmo on his mattress and ... then what? The rat girl came to the conclusion that it must have been a weird dream. That she had woken up in the middle of the night, curled up next to him and ... fallen asleep again? Whatever, it wasn't important after all.

"Come on, get up already!" Elmo spurred her and pulled away her blanket.

"Okay, okay! Merry Christmas to you, too, by the way. _God Jul!"_ she said and stretched her legs. An idea popped up in her mind that made her grin and, at the same time, led her thoughts away from the dream. "Do you know what I'd like to do today?"

"No. Tell me," he inquired and looked at her eagerly.

"I'd like to build a snowman. – No, I must!" Eleanor exclaimed.

"That's arrangeable," Elmo laughed. "But first let's go downstairs, say good morning to my parents and unwrap our well-deserved presents."

"But I can't go down like this!" the girl disagreed, scandalized, and pointed at her pajamas.

"Believe me, the out-of-bed-look suits you." For this remark Eleanor threw both pillows at him and chased him down the stairs laughingly, completely forgetting what she had said before.

"Hey, watch out!" Mrs. Sputterspark had to sidestep the two giggling teenagers before she could put the jug in her hand on the dining room table, which was laid for brunch. She then joined them on the couch, chuckling.

"Girls don't like compliments like that, you know?" Eleanor laughed.

"I just said what was on my mind," Elmo defended himself and shrugged. "Mom, please tell her that she doesn't need to get dressed up for us."

"Mrs. Sputterspark, please tell your son that that is what I want to do, no matter what he says!" the rat girl interrupted him. Unfortunately, Irma shook her head, still grinning.

"He's right. Presents first."

"But … it's embarrassing!" Eleanor said meekly. She shouldn't have reacted so impulsively, because now she didn't know how to flinch from the scenario: sitting in the living room in her pajamas.

"No back talk!" Mrs. Sputterspark winked at her, and Eleanor didn't dare to complain any longer. She darted Elmo a fake-angry glance, which he fended off with a triumphant grin. And when his father entered the room with a confused smile, saying, "Oh cool, a sleepover? Can I join?", the rat girl joined in their laughing. So what, she thought.

"Well, let's see what we've got here!" Mr. Sputterspark announced and sat down on the carpet, his legs crossed. The others followed suit. Eleanor wondered what she would get. She didn't expect anything, but – knowing the Sputtersparks – that was a misjudgment. She could see several little presents with her name on them under the tree.

"This is for you." Elmo handed her the first one as if he had read her mind.

It was a bulky, edgy something, as far as Eleanor could feel. She had no idea what it could be, and when she felt their eagerly waiting looks she hurried to unwrap it. It was one of the lamps Elmo crafted.

"Wow … how beautiful," she whispered and eyed the frail object thoroughly while turning it in her hands carefully. He couldn't have made her a more personal, prettier present. "Thank you so much, Elmo!" She carefully put the lamp down and hugged her best friend dearly.

"You're welcome," he answered, just to be startled and torn away from her hug by a bright flashlight. Squinting, they looked for the source of the flash, which was Elmo's mother, respectively the camera she held in her hands.

"Come one, another one!" She gestured them to move together again, but her husband put a hand on her shoulder.

"Maybe you should check if yesterday's suspicion is true." He handed her a huge package, which – just like she had expected – contained a cook book. Irma nodded, smiling, and kissed her husband on the cheek.

It went on like this. Every present was followed by expressions of delight, hugs, a brief kiss here and there. When the Sputtersparks unwrapped the books Eleanor had picked out for them, silence fell for a few minutes. After having read the dedications, they lifted their heads one after another to look at the rat girl.

"That is … wonderfully written." Elmo's mother was the first to speak. "Eleanor, dear, you can be sure that we'll always be there for you if you need us. No matter what." Her eyes were filled with tears as she hugged Eleanor close. "Thank you."

Elmo and his father, too, thanked her sincerely and hugged her. Elmo's reaction was similar to his mother's: a shimmer could be seen in his eyes as he wrapped his arms around his best friend.

"Thank you," he said so quietly that his parents couldn't hear him. " You're a wonderful person, you managed to bolster me and make me believe in myself again. I want us to be friends forever."

"Promise." Eleanor felt exceedingly warm and fuzzy upon hearing his words. She had never received a compliment like this and she would do her utmost to never lose sight of him.


End file.
